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THE KANSAN 

MACK CRETCHER 







THE KANSAN 

A NOVEL 

BY 

MACK CRETCHER f 

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Author of A Tenderfoot in the Tropics . ’ * 




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Publishers DORRANCE Philadelphia 





COPYRIGHT 1923 DORRANCE & COMPANY INC 
All Rights Reserved 





© Cl A 7 5 9 6 9 6 ^ 


MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

NOV “5 *23 


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CONTENTS 

Part One—The Pioneers 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I Westward Ho! . 11 

II The Homestead. 19 

III Signal Fires . 31 

IV The Night Ride. 41 

V “A-Hunting We Will Go”. 52 

VI The Masked Horsemen. 63 

VII Frontier Justice. 72 

VIII The Blizzard. 84 

IX The Exodus. 97 

Part Two—The Boomers 

X The Bison Bubble. 109 

XI The Course of True Love. 122 

XII A Bribe Is Offered. 133 

XIII On the Eve of Disaster. 146 

XIV The Bubble Bursts. 159 

XV The Assault. 174 

XVI A Woman’s Way. 187 

XVII The Capture . 196 

XVIII Counting the Cost. 209 

XIX A Face in the Moonlight. 222 

Part Three—The Builders 

XX An Unwelcome Visitor. 237 

XXI Under Cover of Darkness. 250 

XXII What the Daylight Revealed. 265 

XXIII Applying the Pressure. 277 

XXIV Open Confession. 288 

XXV A Pledge of Loyalty. 303 

XXVI The Darkest Hour. 314 

XXVII Victory from Defeat. 326 






































THE KANSAN 






PART ONE 

THE PIONEERS 







THE KANSAN 

CHAPTER I 
Westward Ho! 

It was springtime on the plains in the days when 
the white-topped wagons of the pioneers were 
rolling steadily westward. There was beauty in 
the golden sunshine, the velvety green of the buf¬ 
falo grass, the undulating tracery of the sky-line 
and in the blue sky, itself, flecked with clouds of 
fleecy white. There was a tang in the air and a 
newness that was invigorating. Shy antelope 
grazed on distant slopes or raced frantically in 
sudden alarm. The resonant calls of the wild 
geese sounded high in the thin air as they wended 
their way to the northland in long lines midst the 
billowy clouds. Prairie grouse nestled close in 
the short grass or rose with startling whir of wing 
when disturbed by the pioneer invaders of this 
virgin land. 

A covered wagon, drawn by a team of tired 
ponies, creaked mournfully along over the rolling 
prairie. Beside the wagon trudged a resolute 
youth, a heavy rifle over his shoulder. The lad 
wavered under the weight of the rifle as woefully 
as did the team of ponies with their heavy load. 
There was grim determination in the face and 
bearing of the youth, from his battered straw hat 
to the soles of his naked feet. The shades of even¬ 
ing were falling. It was truly an undiscovered 


12 


THE KANSAN 


country into which the toiling ponies struggled 
with the lunging covered wagon. 

“How much farther is it, Jim?” called the 
tired voice of a woman from somewhere within 
the jolting covered wagon. 

“Oh, we’ll make it soon, mother,” came the 
cheerful response. “They told us back at Bax¬ 
ter ’s Ford that we would be able to see Bison City 
from the top of the big divide. The trail grows 
fainter and harder to follow, but we must be on 
the right track. I’ve been expecting every knoll 
we passed would be the big divide. It’s getting 
late. There is a ridge ahead. I hope that is the 
one we are looking for, and that we will not be 
disappointed again. ’ ’ 

The lad spoke encouragingly to the tired ponies. 
He shifted the rifle to the other shoulder, and 
flinched as the weight settled against his tender 
flesh. A flood of memories came to him as night 
approached, memories that caused his eyes to 
blur with bitter tears even though his lips were 
firm and his jaws resolutely set. 

Trials had beset them from the outset. The 
journey had been a nightmare. Now it was grim 
tragedy, a case of do or die, and the burden of it 
all rested upon his slender shoulders. The Bran¬ 
don family had started out with high hopes. They 
had visions of obtaining a homestead on the 
verdant plains of Kansas. The time was in the 
late ’60’s, the days when the settlers’ covered 
wagons were wending their way over the treeless 
plains, up the valleys of the Republic, the Blue, 
the Solomon, and even down into the fertile lands 
along the Walnut and the Arkansas. Like thou¬ 
sands of others, the Brandons were optimistic but 
of limited means. Their total worldly possessions 
were contained within the canvas of their prairie 


WESTWARD HO! 


13 


schooner. The father, shattered in health after 
hardships of the Civil War and months in south¬ 
ern prison pens, was but a wreck of his former 
young manhood. But the pioneer spirit was in his 
blood. 

He had heard the call of the golden West. His 
optimism called him to the sunset trail. To the 
mother, with a woman’s intuition, came many 
doubts, but they were swept aside by the cheerful 
optimism of the husband. To young Jim Bran¬ 
don, their only child, the prospect of a journey to 
the new land was a joyous revel, a great ad¬ 
venture, magnified, intensified, by the rosy im¬ 
agination of youth. It meant a voyage of dis¬ 
covery to the land of the Indian and the buffalo, 
to a land where streams teemed with fish and 
wild game was plentiful, where skies were blue 
and twilight was purple and dawn pure gold, 
where a home was to be erected and a happy 
future was assured. He had eagerly absorbed 
the father’s enthusiasm and listened wide-eyed 
to his plans and to the stories of the first of the 
settlers who had returned for supplies and were 
eager to return to the promised land of Kansas. 

But as the great adventure progressed and the 
journey became stern reality, the illusions one by 
one had vanished as the mirage before the morn¬ 
ing sun. Still young Jim was cheerful, resolute 
and hopeful until the great blow came at Baxter’s 
Ford, the tragedy that turned all the rose tints 
to dead, colorless drab and changed the great ad¬ 
venture of his dreams to one of stern reality. It 
was there that the father, after a week of burning 
fever, finally gave up life’s fitful struggle. There, 
friendly hands of strangers laid the body to rest 
on a grassy hillside beside the trail. All the bit¬ 
terness of that hour came over him now as he men- 


14 


THE KANSAN 


tioned Baxter’s Ford while trudging beside the 
wagon in the gathering dusk. 

They had gone too far to retreat when the great 
blow came. The mother was all but prostrated, 
incapable of coherent thought. It was to him she 
looked, her son Jim Brandon, a diminutive but 
resolute youth of twelve. There were at least 
acquaintances ahead at the trail’s end, at the 
magic town of Bison City. There was nothing 
at Baxter’s Ford but bleak, rocky bluffs, the grave 
on the hillside—and starvation. Behind them lay 
the endless miles of trail with its known priva¬ 
tions. It had done enough for them already. 
Ahead was the unknown. At its worst it could 
hardly be less hospitable. Their stock of pro¬ 
visions was running low. The tired ponies were 
well nigh exhausted, lame and staggering. It was 
either Bison City or sure disaster, and it was 
through Jim’s decision that they again took up 
their journey along the sunset trail for the prom¬ 
ised land. 

Jim remembered with a lump in his throat, the 
friendly pat on the back the hardy settlers had 
given him when he announced his decision to re¬ 
sume the journey, and of the unmistakable sad¬ 
ness and sympathy in their eyes as they bade his 
mother Godspeed and started them on their way 
with cheerful words of encouragement. He had 
confidently hoped to reach Bison City late in the 
afternoon, but the way had been rougher than he 
had anticipated and the ponies were nearer fagged 
than he had realized. 

And now darkness was settling down upon 
them and the journey was not ended. They were 
alone on the bleak, desolate prairie. The waver¬ 
ing howl of a coyote from a neighboring ridge sent 
a cold chill down the child’s aching spine. He 


WESTWARD HO! 


15 


had walked most of the afternoon in order that 
the load of the tired ponies might be lessened. He 
had even carried the heavy rifle for the same 
reason, but not for that alone. There was the 
fear that in the unknown land there might be 
sudden and unforeseen dangers. 

“Jim, what shall we do?” came the plaintive 
voice of the mother. “We can’t stay out on the 
prairie all alone, yet the team can’t go much 
farther. I am so frightened I can’t even think.” 

“We’ll make it all right. It can’t be much 
farther, ’ ’ replied the youth cheerfully, yet secretly 
he was as much afraid as the mother. 

“There’s a ridge ahead. I can see its crest 
against the sky-line now. It must be the big di¬ 
vide we are looking for. Bison City is surely just 
on the other side.” 

But the gathering dusk made objects indistinct. 
Strange voices came with the darkness. There 
were great rushes of wings as wild fowl sped past 
or settled down for the night. Vague shadows 
filled the boy’s young heart with alarm. Again 
came that quavering coyote call, this time an¬ 
swered from the pack much nearer the wagon. 
He clutched his rifle more tightly and stumbled 
onward beside the wagon. He must not stop. 
The call of the prairie wolves multiplied even as 
he turned his head to listen. All at once his little 
heart stood still. Right there over the shadowy 
hill crest they were approaching, a huge form ap¬ 
peared, coming rapidly down upon them. There 
was fear in his eyes, but courage in his heart 
as he stopped the team and sprang forward, the 
heavy rifle wavering but bearing full upon that 
huge shape coming through the gloom. 

“Halt!” 


16 


THE KANSAN 


The shrill, childish tone seemed frail and out 
of place. The form halted abruptly. 

“What’s this?” came from the shadows. Jim 
could make out through the gloom a man on horse¬ 
back, and he heaved a sigh of relief. Visions of 
Indians or of wild beasts had been with him from 
the moment the shape appeared. 

“What’s this, I say?” commanded the man on 
horseback. “Lower that gun, sonny, it might go 
off while you are excited. Who are you? What 
are you? What in blazes are you trying to do, 
anyway ? ’ ’ 

“We are going to Bison City,” replied the boy, 
lowering the rifle. “Is it much farther?” 

The man on horseback laughed loudly without 
answering. 

“Where’s the rest of your outfit?” 

“It’s all right here.” 

Again the man laughed, a harsh, unsympathetic 
laugh that Jim did not like. 

“Quit foolin’, kid, and talk sense. Where’s 
your dad ? ’ ’ 

“He’s back on the trail,” came the prompt re¬ 
sponse. Jim had caught a glimpse of his mother’s 
frightened face inside the wagon and the reply 
came to him as an inspiration. 

“How far back?” inquired the horseman. 

“Not very far,” stoutly replied the lad. 

“Then I presume he will be along pretty soon, 
or I may meet him on the trail. I must be going. ’ ’ 

“But about Bison City. How far is it?” 
faltered the lad, the old fears returning. 

“I wonder who wants to know?” laughed the 
horseman. 

“I do. I’m Jim Brandon,” said the lad, earn¬ 
estly. 

“Well, Jim, it isn’t far if you had a team in- 


WESTWARD HO! 


17 


stead of that pair of crow-baits. It’s in sight 
from the top of that divide just ahead. In sight, 
remember. When yon get there tell ’em Steve Os¬ 
born was kind enough to show you the way. Good¬ 
bye, sonny. I’ll tell your dad to hurry and catch 
up with you. The Lord knows you need him.” 

Again he laughed his harsh laugh. Then, catch¬ 
ing sight of the white, scared face of the woman 
inside the wagon cover, he rode closer, lifted his 
sombrero and bowed with exaggerated gallantry, 
after which he put spurs to his horse and galloped 
away on the trail and was soon swallowed up in 
the darkness. 

“Will he return?” whispered the mother. 

“I hope not,” replied the lad. “Anyway we 
had better be moving. He said Bison City was 
just over the divide.” 

There was new courage in the thought. Again 
the tired ponies were urged to take up their 
burden. Again the covered wagon creaked and 
groaned as the weary lad trudged beside, his rifle 
still clutched in his childish fingers. At the crest 
of the ridge a cry of joy escaped him. 

“Look, mother, look. At last.” 

There in the distant valley lights were twin¬ 
kling. It was Bison City. The end of the long 
trail was in sight. 

“Thank God, my son,” replied the mother, 
fervently. “It’s downhill all the way, now. The 
ponies can make it. Climb in the wagon and ride, 
child. Oh, Jim, what would I do without you ? ’ ’ 

Her cheeks were wet with tears as Jim climbed 
stiffly into the wagon. She placed her arms 
around him and hugged him convulsively to her 
breast. The lights in the distance and the down 
grade put new life into the fagged ponies. The 
wagon lurched forward, the chuck of the axles 



18 


THE KANSAN 


sounding merrily. Jim climbed to the seat beside 
his mother and sat bolt upright, the rifle between 
his knees. Only a little while longer and the 
strain would be over. The menace of Steve Os¬ 
born’s return troubled him less now. The vague 
forms of the prairie and the strange voices of the 
night lost much of their terror, but he must still 
remain alert and on guard. His head wabbled 
woefully and his eyelids were weighted with lead. 
Every muscle of his little body ached frightfully 
but he steadied himself with an effort. The lights 
of Bison City were still elusively in the distance, 
and the trail seemed never ending. The mother’s 
arm stole softly around the swaying figure and 
the little head drooped. 

As the team rounded the bend and came down 
the one street of Bison City and stopped of its 
own accord before the ramshackle hotel, Jim 
Brandon’s troubles had for the time vanished. 
He was sound asleep in his mother’s arms. 


CHAPTER II 


The Homestead 

In the language of Jonathan Butler, pioneer 
and boomer, Bison City was the “ Metropolis of 
the Great Southwest. ” In reality the town was 
but a frontier outpost. Through the influence of 
Mr. Jason Hull, president of the Bison City bank, 
a railroad was already in prospect. On returning 
from his latest trip east Banker Hull carried his 
head a little higher and walked with a trifle more 
of firmness and assurance. Thereupon, Jonathan 
Butler, with an eye always wide awake, became 
more enthusiastic than ever over Bison City’s 
prospects and the “unlimited possibilities” of the 
country. 

Jonathan Butler was a typical boomer. Large 
of frame, quick and forceful of movement, yet oily 
and diplomatic as a courtier, he went his way, 
brimming with optimism, never discouraged, his 
magnetic presence radiating confidence and good 
cheer. His homestead close to town was to be the 
greatest stock farm in the state. Bison City, ac¬ 
cording to his vision, was to be not only a com¬ 
mercial metropolis but an educational center as 
well. He was an empire builder, equipped by 
nature with vision, energy, force and courage. 
Possibly he lacked caution. His other handicap 
was the lack of funds, but from his point of view 
caution was a detriment and funds could always 
be borrowed by a man with the proper powers of 
persuasion. 

Such were the dreams of Jonathan Butler, just 

19 


20 


THE KANSAN 


arrived in Bison City from his homestead, for 
Butler was a farmer who preferred to do his farm¬ 
ing in town. Farm life was entirely too slow for 
his plans, but a homestead was an anchor to wind¬ 
ward and homesteading showed a proper example 
of thrift and foresight so essential to a growing 
community, therefore Jonathan Butler took a 
homestead with the others. 

His team of restless Texas ponies, hitched to a 
buckboard, were tied to the hitching post in front 
of Jason Hull’s bank, and Jonathan Butler, ranch¬ 
man, boomer, optimist, brushed his hands, ad¬ 
justed his cravat, relighted his cigar, and stepped 
briskly into the bank, much more at home and 
confident of himself now, than when out with the 
family in the little shack on the prairie claim. 

“You are just the man I wanted to see,” cheer¬ 
fully called banker Jason Hull, coming from be¬ 
hind the iron bank railing and greeting Jonathan 
Butler with a hearty hand-clasp. “Bison City’s 
boom continues. There were new arrivals over 
night. The city’s future is assured.” 

He slapped Jonathan Butler jovially on the 
shoulder. “Sit down, man, and listen to me. 
Joking aside, I’ve a task for you, and I know you 
will not refuse it. Truly, several settlers are in 
town and are anxious to be located on claims, but 
most of them can wait a little while. What I 
want to talk to you about is this case of the 
Brandons. Heard of it? No? ■ 

“Well, mother and son got in here last night, 
all plum played out. Boy only a small lad. It’s 
really a sad case. Father died with fever on the 
trail coming out, and was buried at Baxter’s 
Ford. Nothing for the two to do but come on, 
and they arrived here last night, as I said, all in. 
Ponies fagged, lad entirely worn out, mother 


THE HOMESTEAD 


21 


ready to drop from exhaustion, privation and 
fear. Their funds are limited. As founder of 
Bison City, of course they were directed to me 
to tell their troubles. I feel sorry for the woman 
and the lad, too. They are in the back room of the 
bank now. Will you come in and see them? Pos¬ 
sibly you can suggest something that will help 
them out.” 

“Sure!” said Jonathan Butler, squaring his 
broad shoulders. “Lead the way. You are the 
founder of Bison City, but I guess it will always 
be my job to play Santa Claus to the newcomers.” 

His deep, hearty, booming laugh was infectious. 
Banker Hull felt better already, as he led the way 
to the little back room of the bank where sat the 
mother and son. 

“Mrs. Brandon, this is Mr. Jonathan Butler, 
one of our leading citizens.” 

The mother, in acknowledging the introduction, 
gave such a pleading look that Butler’s tender 
heart was touched with pity. But when he 
grasped young Jim Brandon by the hand and 
gazed into that appealing yet determined boyish 
face, Jonathan Butler was won completely and 
the widow and the fatherless found a friend in¬ 
deed. For a moment after the introduction, But¬ 
ler scratched his chin thoughtfully in deep study. 
Then, evidently having settled something in his 
own mind, nodded slowly and said: 

“I suppose you want to locate on a claim. 
Everybody does. In fact, it’s the only thing to do 
—and the right thing, at that. But Jim is such a 
small youngster I suppose you folks don’t care to 
go out very far for a claim. Everything near 
town is already filed on. That has been the situa¬ 
tion for months. However,” hesitatingly, “there 
is one quarter near my place down on Willow 


22 


THE KANSAN 


Creek, that I have been covering up, hoping to 
unload it on the first settler who showed an in¬ 
clination to pay me a stiff price for my advance 
information. I’ve given out the word that this 
particular quarter is school land, and have kept 
settlers off so far, but sooner or later the bluff 
will be called.” Jonathan Butler sighed, then 
smiled. “How would that quarter do for you 
folks?” he asked abruptly. 

“Fine,” said the boy, promptly. “I would 
call that great luck.” 

“We haven’t the money to pay you for this in¬ 
formation,” said the mother, who realized some¬ 
thing of the sacrifice Jonathan Butler was making. 
“In fact,” she continued, “I am afraid we would 
not have money enough to make the necessary im¬ 
provements on the place. Our case is rather hope¬ 
less, isn’t it?” 

“Not so bad, not so bad,” cheerfully replied 
Jonathan Butler, standing erect, rocking back¬ 
ward and forward from heel to toe, hands locked 
behind his coat tails, his favorite attitude. 
“Now I’ve agreed to uncover this land. I am not 
asking or expecting any money for this informa¬ 
tion. I know Mr. Hull, here, pretty well. He has 
plenty of money. He owns this bank here, you 
see.” 

At this stage of the proceedings, Mr. Jason 
Hull began to take a decided interest in the con¬ 
versation. 

“While the statements of Mr. Butler are in a 
measure true—” began the banker, but he was 
cut short immediately. 

“Now look here, Mr. Hull. If I’ve had the 
nerve to uncover a whole quarter section of per¬ 
fectly good farm land, it’s up to you to do your 
share, too. Never mind what he says, lady, he’s 


THE HOMESTEAD 


23 


going to see you through all right. His heart is 
in the right place, but there are times when it 
almost ceases to function, times for instance when 
the suggestion is made that he should loan money 
without sufficient security. IVe had some ex¬ 
perience with him, myself, but he is the founder 
of Bison City, and he is bound to make a suc¬ 
cess of the venture. He’s just got to have things 
prosperous around here. Weeping widows and 
disconsolate children are not assets for a booming 
town like Bison City. Don’t worry. He’ll come 
across all right. Say ‘yes,’ Mr. Hull, like a gentle¬ 
man. ’ ’ 

The banker laughed heartily and nodded as¬ 
sent. The mother brightened and the boy’s face 
fairly shone. Grasping Jonathan Butler’s big 
hand, the lad looked him squarely in the face as 
he said: 

“I think you have saved us, sir. I will never 
forget your kindness, and hope to be able to repay 
it sometime.” 

“Sure enough,” said Jonathan Butler, smiling. 

And so it was settled that the Brandons should 
at once move to the Willow Creek homestead, 
Jonathan Butler to look after the filing papers 
at the land office and then to locate them on their 
land, while Jason Hull’s job was to keep the wolf 
from the door and furnish credit for the neces¬ 
sary farm development. And these two philan¬ 
thropists, a few moments later were having a 
momentous conference in the front room of the 
bank. 

“It’s this way,” persisted Jonathan Butler, 
“I’ve just given away a whole quarter section of 
virgin soil, a regular principality if properly de¬ 
veloped. And your part, Hull? Why, hell, man 
—all you have to do is to finance the deal, and 


24 


THE KANSAN 


youVe got the money to do it with. Now, if I 
had the money, I’d willingly carry the whole load 
myself. But in as much as I haven’t got it,. I 
had to call on you for help. Fact of the matter is, 
Jason, in view of the magnitude of my donation 
to your friends, and the exceedingly low state of 
my finances, it seems to me that it is up to you 
to buy me a drink. You are getting off easy, man. 
Think of my giving away a whole farm and yet 
not having the price of a drink! Everything is 
moving along nicely. You are bound to be a 
millionaire some day. With good luck we will 
all be wealthy. Then we will be able to laugh over 
these experiences.” 

They sauntered out, arm in arm, and Jason 

Hull, running true to form, bought the drink. 
####**#* 

Those were happy days for the Brandons when 
they were finally settled on their claim on Willow 
Creek. They lived in their covered wagon while 
the little frame shack was being erected. It was 
now early summer. From their very dooryard the 
unbroken prairie stretched away for miles and 
miles, a carpet of vivid green, studded with 
blossoms of the wild rose, the sensitive plant and 
the shy primroses that blossomed in the swales 
at eventide. 

Every morning they were awakened by the 
drumming of the prairie grouse. Deer and ante¬ 
lope could be seen on the ridges. Meadow larks 
carroled all day long, yellow breasted, fairly 
bursting with melody. Great herds of cattle at 
times were seen. They were being driven north¬ 
ward to the terminus of the railroad, where they 
were loaded into cars and shipped to eastern 
markets. Long trains of white-topped wagons 
with army supplies, rolled over ridges and down 





THE HOMESTEAD 


25 


valleys on the old Fort Sill trial. Quail actually 
nested in a corner of the Brandon’s little garden 
and prairie chickens mingled freely with their 
domestic kindred in settler’s barnyards. It was 
a new land, a land of sunshine and clear blue 
skies, a wild, free, untamed wilderness, on the 
verge of which the pioneers camped and gradually 
pushed the advance guard ever onward into the 
west. 

With his own hands young Jim Brandon helped 
with the work of erecting the dwelling, firm little 
hands that after the day’s work found time to 
gather huge bouquets of wild blossoms that were 
brought to his mother with boyish pride and love. 
They were busy days, too, yet happy withal. He 
learned to stalk the antelope. He loved the ex¬ 
citement of the chase, and the products of his skill 
with the rifle many times helped keep the wolf 
from the door. After the long journey the ponies 
reveled in the luscious grass and clear water, and 
grew sleek and fat. 44 Bet,” the intelligent young 
mare, was Jim’s favorite, and he taught her many 
tricks at odd times. She was wonderfully fleet of 
foot, and was trained to come hounding to her 
young master in response to his whistled call. 

But at nightfall Jim Brandon disliked the dis¬ 
mal howling of the coyotes. The sound recalled 
disagreeable memories of that last night on the 
trail to Bison City. Many a night, while they 
were still living in the covered wagon at their 
new home, before the house was completed, he 
cuddled close to his mother when the nightly 
chorus was in full swing. The coyote’s wail was 
the one jarring note in the whole happy chorus. 
It recalled the time of his father’s death, the lone¬ 
some trail, his fears, the grinning face of Steve 
Osborn as he appeared out of the gloom. The 


26 


THE KANSAN 


days were busy ones, full of excitement and inter¬ 
est, but the nights were always made hideous by 
those mournful howls until slumber brought 
grateful relief. 

At length came the great day when the new 
house was completed and the neighbors who 
helped with the work, the Jonathan Butler house¬ 
hold, 4 4 Skinner ” Smith and family, the Sparkses, 
Joneses, and others came trooping in during the 
late afternoon with lunch baskets and filled the 
little shack to overflowing, as a house-warming 
and neighborly celebration. There was Marion 
Butler, neat as a new pin, with hair braids tied 
with the most gorgeous scarlet ribbon Jim had 
ever seen. And there was jovial Mollie Smith and 
many youngsters Jim had never before seen. Boy 
though he was, he felt a timidity in the presence 
of Marion and Mollie that he did not experience 
while romping with the freckle-faced lads of his 
own age out on the lawn of prairie sod. 

That feast was a memorable one, the baskets 
holding wonderful stores of cherished morsels, 
some of them from the stock originally brought 
from “back home.” There were likewise elder¬ 
berry pie and wild plum preserves. There were 
wild grape jelly and sorghum gingerbread, fried 
prairie chicken and baked antelope, a free-will 
offering of a generous, whole-souled people, where 
poverty and privations had placed all upon a com¬ 
mon footing, and among whom no snobbery and 
false pride had as yet appeared. 

After the feast came the games for the children, 
and the speech-making by the elders. Jonathan 
Butler was at his best. He welcomed the new¬ 
comers in the heartiest manner, and concluded 
his remarks with a glowing tribute to the great 
commonwealth of Kansas, and likewise to Bison 


THE HOMESTEAD 


27 


City, the metropolis of the great Southwest. 
“Skinner” Smith, who had earned his dis¬ 
tinguished title through having managed to exist 
through several adverse seasons by skinning 
range cattle that had died during the winter bliz¬ 
zards and selling the hides to the post trader, 
seldom agreed with Butler and his great vision of 
the future. Smith, hard-driven and practical, 
lived only in the present, where life was rugged 
and a hard struggle at best. At the conclusion of 
Butler’s glowing tribute, “Skinner” Smith arose. 
Shaking a bony finger at the well-rounded form of 
Butler, he said, amidst great laughter: 

“Neighbors, Jonathan Butler has succeeded in 
painting a great picture. I hope he is a prophet, 
but I have my own opinion about that. However, 
he has made a prophecy, and I desire to follow it 
with another one. It’s this: If Jonathan Butler 
ever succeeds in getting into heaven, I predict 
that he won’t be there more than an hour before 
he will be organizing a homeseekers’ excursion.” 

There was much laughter and merry-making 
until the time came to depart. Then the rumbling 
lumber wagons filled with fragrant prairie hay, 
came up one at a time, the members of the family 
were cuddled down in the friendly nest in the 
wagon, and away they bumped over the prairie in 
the starlight, each driver heading straight for his 
home, for in those days there were no barbed-wire 
fences and few hedge rows in the Willow Creek 
neighborhood. 

As they sat alone in front of their prairie home 
after the last guest had left the lawn, the mother 
held her boy close and felt the first real happiness 
that had come to her for months. 

“Jim, I am so happy, I am afraid it will not 
last. Seems like everything that ever came my 


28 


THE KANSAN 


way that was really good, only remained a little 
while. All except you, my boy. Have you had a 
good time, son! Do you feel hopeful, too?” 

Before the lad had time to reply there was the 
clatter of hoofs and a horseman checked his steed 
almost fairly in their faces. Jim trembled and 
knew intuitively that the rider was Steve Osborn, 
even before he looked up into the sinister, smiling 
face. 

“Good evening, folks,” said Osborn, as he sat 
twirling his mustache and idly swinging his riding 
quirt across his knee. “Just heard of the house 
warming, and thought I would ride over, but I 
see I am a little late.” His eyes furtively 
searched the premises for signs of other guests. 
Without invitation he dismounted. 

“Well, if this isn’t the lad that tried to hold 
me up on the trail one night, and then lied to me 
about his dad being back somewhere on the trail!” 
he said, attempting a playful stroke at Jim’s 
shoulder. The boy ducked quickly, and secretly 
boiling with rage darted into the house and stub¬ 
bornly took his stand beside the door of the shack. 

“I didn’t lie to you, and you know it,” he re¬ 
torted. “Dad was back there on the trail, dead 
and buried.” 

“Spunky for a youngster, ain’t he?” replied 
Steve, now totally ignoring the boy and address¬ 
ing the frightened mother. 

“Don’t bother none about me, ma’am,” he 
smiled. “I’m Steve Osborn. Everybody knows 
me, from Fort Sill to Leavenworth. I’m really 
sorry to see you living away out here on a claim 
this way, all alone.” 

“I am not alone, sir,” replied the frightened 
woman, as Steve edged nearer. “I have my boy, 
and the best of neighbors.” 


THE HOMESTEAD 


29 


“Yes, but you really ought to have a man about 
the place at least occasionally; some good, strong 
real man like me, for instance,” tapping his ex¬ 
tended chest and winking malevolently. Catching 
at once the drift of his sinister attitude, the 
mother started to enter the house. 

“Not so fast, my line lady,” said Steve Osborn, 
stepping briskly between the widow and the door. 
As he stepped he staggered slightly, plain proof 
that he had been drinking. This was confirmed 
when she caught the scent of liquor on his breath 
as his face came close to hers. 

Then a shadowy form sprang between them. It 
was Jim, his eyes blazing, face white with anger. 
Steve Osborn caught him by the shoulder and sent 
him spinning to one side. 

“Run on out to the barn, sonny, the horses need 
you. At any rate you are in the way here. 
Vamoose.” 

But Jim did not run to the barn. At one bound 
he was inside the house. The next instant he 
appeared in the doorway, a tragic little figure 
with his father’s rifle in his hands. 

“Get out of here,” he hissed, between his 
clenched teeth, 6 ‘ get out before I kill you. ’ 9 There 
was a tremor in his voice that indicated plainly 
that the lad was close to the physical breaking 
point, yet he stood rigid, sustained by courage 
and the white heat of his anger. 

Steve Osborn was no fool. Even partially be¬ 
fuddled by liquor, he realized that for the present 
at least his game was up, and that the situation 
was one of personal danger. Bending low, with a 
sweep of his sombrero at arm’s length, he said: 

“Farewell, sweet lady, for the present. Your 
young wildcat seems to have his claws out most 
of the time, these days.” 


30 


THE KANSAN 


He then turned and strode to his horse. With 
one foot in the stirrup, he turned his head and 
displayed his sinister grin to the tragic little 
figure in the doorway. 

‘ 4 You little fool, ’’ he sneered, ‘ i if you don’t quit 
fooling with that rifle you are liable to kill some¬ 
body, some day . 99 

“I’m liable to do that right now unless you go 
quickly ,’ 9 came in clear tones from the lad in the 
doorway. 

But Steve Osborn knew how far he could go. 
He mounted deliberately, adjusted his bridle 
reins, jauntily twisted the curls of his mustache, 
again lifted his sombrero in mock politeness and 
bowed smilingly as he turned and galloped off 
into the starlit night. 

Again mother and son were in each others 
arms. Both were sobbing now. 

“Oh, Jim, I told you I was afraid our luck 
was too good to last. I am horribly afraid of 
that man, but I am glad that you did not shoot . 9 ’ 

“I’ve had my rifle on him twice already. If he 
comes here again I’ll kill him,” sobbed the lad. 

“Jim, you mustn’t talk like that,” cautioned 
the mother, but involuntarily she hugged him 
closer as she said it. 


CHAPTER III 


Signal Fires 

It was now autumn. The first frosts had 
changed the vivid green of the prairie grass to 
dull brown, and placed the purple blush upon the 
ripened prickly pears. Wild sunflowers drooped 
mournfully, their blossoms loaded with seed. The 
wild fowl were again in the land on their annual 
pilgrimage to warmer climes. The honk of the 
wild goose sounded from every quarter. The shy 
antelope became even more suspicious as the first 
frosts lent clearness of vision and bounding life to 
the blood. The drumming of the prairie grouse 
sounded merrily from every ridge, like a call to 
arms, mingled with the shrill pipe of the quail 
resounding from draw and stubble-field. 

The scanty crops the settlers had wrested from 
the soil this first season, were carefully stored 
away. The sorghum cane had been milled, the 
sod corn gathered and the prairie hay was in the 
stack. There was a supply of dried venison and 
buffalo meat in nearly every home. There were 
dried elderberries, canned sand plums and a sup¬ 
ply of rye to be parched and converted into the 
wonderful 4 ‘ plains coffee’ ’ familiar to all 
pioneers. 

Affairs had gone well with the Brandons. The 
hoy had worked manfully. The mother had 
proved a good manager. The neighbors had been 
kind. The ponies, although new to the work of 
the sod plow, thrived and grew sleek and firm of 
limb. Jim’s favorite pony, “Bet,” especially 

31 


32 


THE KANSAN 


enjoyed the new life and became more and more 
intelligent and fleet of foot. She was Jim’s pride 
now. It was his proud boast that no pony in the 
neighborhood could overtake him when mounted 
on his favorite mare, and many were t,he neigh¬ 
boring youngsters who had undertaken the task 
and failed. The mare was docile as a lamb when 
Jim handled her, but with the prospects for a race 
she became a veritable demon that nothing could 
check. Her speed was the talk of the Willow 
Creek neighborhood. 

In fact, Jim’s ponies were his greatest pride. 
He was at work one morning, building the straw 
stable that was to shelter them from the rigors 
of winter, when Banker Jason Hull drove up in 
his buggy. He was a frequent visitor at their 
homestead, having taken a friendly interest in 
their affairs, always cheerful, encouraging, help¬ 
ful. But this day Jim noted a change in his de¬ 
meanor. Banker Hull did not appear quite so 
jovial. In fact, he was quite grave as he called 
Jim to him, and said: 

‘‘ Still busy making improvements on the home¬ 
stead. That’s fine, son. Is the mother at home? 
Good. Now don’t be alarmed at what I tell you, 
and above all don’t excite her, but you had better 
get ready to come into town at once. Hitch up to 
your wagon, tell your mother to take what things 
she must have along with her. It is not safe to 
stay out here right now. It may prove a false 
alarm, but it will not pay to take chances.” 

Jim’s face blanched. This kind of talk could 
mean but one thing. 

‘ 1 Indians?” he questioned. 

“Sure, lad. Now don’t get panicky. Just 
hitch up, take your mother and such household 
goods as you can readily carry, and drive to town 


SIGNAL FIRES 


33 


at once. Other settlers are being warned. I 
really think the whole thing is only a scare, bnt 
we cannot afford to take any chances, and are 
therefore warning everybody.” 

Just then Jonathan Butler arrived on the scene. 
His steaming horse showed that he had been rid¬ 
ing hard. He, too, was visibly excited, further in¬ 
creasing the lad’s alarm. 

“Hell’s broke loose, Hull; its worse than at 
first reported,” he blurted out. “The red devils 
may be upon us before nightfall. We’ve got to 
ride fast if we get the warning to everybody. I’m 
taking the north trail up Willow Creek valley,” 
he yelled. Putting spurs to his horse, he galloped 
away at full speed. 

“It must be serious,” said the lad, as he 
whistled for Bet and her mate and they came gal¬ 
loping to him in response. His hands trembled as 
he reached for halters and harness. 

“Now keep cool, and don’t lose your head,” 
cautioned the banker. “I’ve been through these 
affairs before. The advance stories are usually 
exaggerated. Keep a stiff upper lip. It may 
not turn out so bad after all.” 

Just as he tightened up the reins and reached 
for his driving whip, there was a great clatter of 
hoofs, and “Skinner” Smith, bareheaded, his 
horse covered with foam, came dashing up. 

4 4 In God’s name, man, hurry with the warning. 
There is not a moment to lose.” Smith was wild 
with excitement. 

“What have you heard?” questioned Hull. 

“It isn’t what I have heard, it’s what I have 
seen. Look!” He pointed frantically to the 
north. Jim Brandon looked in the direction indi¬ 
cated, confidently expecting to see a horde of 
painted savages in the distance. Instead, he saw 





34 THE KANSAN 

only a dim spiral of smoke on the crest of the 
northern ridge. 

“It’s a signal fire. I know its meaning. I’ve 
lived among these reds all my life. Look there to 
the west.” There, too, was the telltale signal 
smoke, now rising, now smothered, now rising 
straight to the heavens again. 

“There’ll be smoke to the south within half an 
hour. Mark my words. I’ve been through this 
before. They will be upon us before nightfall. 
I’m away to warn as many as I can before it is 
too late.” He disappeared to the west in a cloud 
of dust. 

“Do as I tell you, boy; get to town quickly.” 
Banker Hull at once applied the whip and sent the 
bronchos racing down the government trail to 
the south. 

Thoroughly frightened now, the youth har¬ 
nessed the ponies hastily and soon had the farm 
wagon in front of the house. 

“Jim, what is the matter? Oh, Jim, tell me!” 
exclaimed the frightened mother. One glance at 
the boy’s white face and terror stricken eyes re¬ 
vealed the fact that something serious had hap¬ 
pened. 

“We must go to town at once and take as much 
of our belongings as we can carry in the wagon,” 
he replied. “Settlers are being warned to get 
into town. There are stories of Indian raids up 
north. We will have to go, and go quickly.” 

“Go now and leave our home after all this 
work? Leave everything?” wailed the mother. 
“Oh, Jim, are we never to have any comfort?” 

“We must go at once, mother. Look! There 
over the ridge go Mrs. Butler and Marion, headed 
straight for Bison City. Look how fast they are 
driving. The ponies are on the run. Let’s 


SIGNAL FIKES 


35 


hurry, ” urged the frightened lad. Even as he 
spoke, other wagons hove in sight, loaded with 
frightened settlers. The stampede was on. The 
rush to Bison City was in full swing. 

Jim worked furiously, the terror of the Indian 
raid full upon him. But few articles of urgent 
need were thrown hastily into the wagon. More 
racing settlers appeared. The excitement was in¬ 
fectious. The race soon became a life and death 
affair to the youth. Hustling his mother into the 
wagon he was soon headed for Bison City. The 
excitement grew as he watched the other wagons 
careening over the prairie and caught sight of 
the pallid faces of the women and children. In 
his excitement he could all but see the savages and 
hear their demoniacal yells. He laid the whip un¬ 
mercifully across the backs of the ponies. 
Frightened at such unheard of treatment they 
sprang wildly forward. No wagon rocked so 
wildly as the one Jim Brandon drove. He deter¬ 
mined that no one should beat him to a place of 
refuge. True to his resolve, the Brandons were 
among the first arrivals in Bison City that event¬ 
ful day. 

If excitement on the prairies was intense, here 
in the frontier town it was pandemonium. A few 
cooler heads were trying to bring order out of 
chaos, but each new arrival brought fresh alarms 
that added to the excitement. Women were hys¬ 
terical, children frightened and wailing. Little 
order came out of all the confusion until late in 
the afternoon when Jason Hull arrived, soon fol¬ 
lowed by Jonathan Butler. They were well-nigh 
exhausted from their long, hard ride, but they had 
learned that the situation was indeed serious, and 
that there was no time to lose. It was through 
their leadership that a barricade of settlers’ 



36 


THE KANSAN 


wagons was formed. It was their suggestion that 
the women and children be quartered at Jason 
Hull’s bank building, the only brick structure in 
the town, where the last stand was to be made, 
should worst come to worst. They supervised the 
collection and distribution of the arms and am¬ 
munition and prepared for resisting the attack 
they felt sure would come. 

There was more excitement when late in the 
afternoon “Skinner” Smith rode into town, cling¬ 
ing to his saddle, his face ghastly white where the 
skin showed through the clotted blood. He was 
helped from his mount and eagerly questioned by 
the crowd. 

‘ ‘ Its awful, simply awful,’ 9 was all he could say 
at first. “It was too late to warn all the settlers. 
I tried my best. That’s what got me into trouble. 
I went so far I came near being cut off, and had 
to ride hard to escape. They were right after me 
and are coming on rapidly. God pity anyone 
caught out on the prairie this night.” 

“Are there many of them?” asked some one in 
the crowd. 

“It looks like the whole Southwest Tribes are 
on the warpath. I’ve seen homes in flames and 
settlers fleeing that I know did not escape. It’s 
serious business we are in for this time.” 

“Why, Smith, you are wounded,” said Jona¬ 
than Butler, coming up from the front where he 
had been directing the closing of the last gap in 
the barricade. 

“Yes, but it is nothing to what we may all get 
before long,” said Smith. “It’s not much of a 
wound but it sure bled freely. I think I am all 
right. We all have work to do, and I am ready 
to help all I can. Are most of the settlers in?” 

“Most of them, but not all,” replied Jonathan 


SIGNAL FIRES 37 

Butler, sadly. “We couldn’t get word to them 
all . 9 ’ 

“Are the defenses strong enough!” 

“Best we could do under the circumstances.” 

“Then take my advice and work all night 
strengthening them in every way possible. Dig 
trenches. Throw up earthworks. Come on. I’m 
ready to help. They won’t attack until just about 
daybreak. It’s their way, and an Indian seldom 
changes. Got plenty of ammunition!” 

“None too much. It depends on what we have 
to do and how long the struggle will last. ’ ’ 

“Well, let’s get busy and keep busy. Every¬ 
thing depends on our defense work tonight,” said 
Smith. 

And so through the night the settlers toiled in 
their intrenchments, urged on by the sight of set¬ 
tlers ’ homes ablaze in the distance. There were 
skulking forms outside and random shots long 
before dawn. 

Jim Brandon had toiled with the rest. The de¬ 
fenses were now as complete as they could be 
made, and Jim was back at his mother’s side. 
Suddenly she sighed and pointed off across the 
prairie in the direction of Willow Creek. 

“Jim, I’ve been expecting it. There goes our 
home. It is burning, after all our labors. Oh, 
these accursed savages, and the bitterness of the 
cruel West. I have been watching the fires across 
the prairie. Our home was next in line, and there 
it goes. These demons must be close to town now, 
for our place is not far away. They will be upon 
us soon.” 

“We can rebuild our house if we can only come 
out of this alive. That’s the thing that troubles 
everybody now. That’s what the men are say¬ 
ing, ’ ’ replied the boy. 


38 


THE KANSAN 


It was now near the hour of dawn. Few people 
inside the barricade slept that night. With the 
first faint streak of light, the attack came like a 
bolt from the sky. Forms leaped from every¬ 
where in the semi-darkness. Shots, blood-curdling 
yells, shouts of defiance, the death-grapple of the 
white and the red was on. 

For a moment Jim Brandon stood spellbound, 
listening to the tumult. Then his fighting blood 
surged and all fear vanished. He grasped his 
father’s rifle and started to join the defenders. 

“Please, Jim, don’t go. I can’t spare you my 
child. You are too young to fight with men,” 
pleaded his mother with outstretched arms. 

“I’ve got to go, mother. Listen!” The savage 
yells swelled into a grand chorus that presaged 
victory. “We will need every man that is capable 
of holding a gun. Goodbye, mother. Be brave.” 

With a smile on his pallid little face Jim Bran¬ 
don went forward to duty with the others, the 
light of battle in his youthful eyes. 

There was indeed work for every man in Bison 
City that gray October dawn. Again and again 
the dark forms charged from out the darkness of 
the prairie, leaped from the sod almost within a 
stone’s throw of the barricade. But promptly met 
with a storm of bullets from the pioneers, they 
wavered, fell back or fled, only to reorganize and 
repeat the attempt. 

Jonathan Butler’s cheerful voice was heard 
everywhere among the defenders, encouraging, 
praising, sympathizing. 

“Give it to ’em, lads. That’s the idea. Why, 
here’s young Jim Brandon, biggest duck in the 
puddle. Go get ’em, boys. We all know how to 
shoot. Don’t get excited and waste any ammuni¬ 
tion.” 



SIGNAL FIRES 


39 


“That’s the trouble,” growled Skinner Smith. 
“At the rate we are going we will be out of am¬ 
munition before night.’’ 

4 i Cheer up, Smith, ’ ’ laughed Butler. i 1 Possibly 
by nightfall our hair may be lifted and we will not 
have any interest in ammunition, whatever. Use 
what you have now to the best advantage. Cross 
bridges when you come to ’em, I say. Wow! 
Here they come again, but it’s daylight now. 
Shoot straight, boys. Don’t get excited. We’ve 
held them so far, and we can do it again.” 

But this assault proved more determined than 
the others. The painted horde had reached the 
barricade. Here and there a hideous face ap¬ 
peared over the top. For one awful moment fate 
hung in the balance. Then the indomitable force 
of the white man won, and again the retreat be¬ 
gan. It proved the last big attack of the morning. 
There were cheers from the defenders of Bison 
City. There was time for a breathing spell, time 
to take stock of the damage done and the price 
paid for the first victory. 

They had paid dearly. There was no question 
on that score. The wounded were carefully at¬ 
tended. The women even ventured out to the 
defense line with food and drink. The fight was 
gradually settling down to an all-day struggle, but 
the ranks of the defenders had been thinned. The 
situation was serious, desperate in fact, but with 
stout hearts the sturdy pioneers prepared for the 
long struggle. It was part of the day’s work, and 
they were prepared to carry it through to the bit¬ 
ter end. 

“We’ve licked ’em, lads, licked ’em good and 
plenty,” cheerfully called Jonathan Butler, “but 
I expect they will come again and want more of it. 
Well, old Bison City has never refused anybody 


40 


THE KANSAN 


anything he wanted so far; we’ll accommodate 
’em. If it’s hell they want, we’ll give ’em good 
measure. It’s my honest opinion that we can hold 
out here for a week.” 

“We will do well to hold out until night the way 
the ammunition is going, ’ ’ growled Skinner Smith. 
Smith’s prophecy was correct. 


CHAPTER IV 


The Night Ride 

The day dragged slowly on. The pioneers had 
fought a good fight, but they knew that there was 
a limit to human endurance. They were still able 
to repulse the attacks, which had grown less fre¬ 
quent. In the glare of broad daylight the marks¬ 
manship of the plainsmen was deadly. The sav¬ 
ages seldom charged now, but kept up a desultory 
fire as they skulked in hollows, hid behind tufts of 
grass or rode in wide circles around the barricade, 
well out of range. They were playing a waiting 
game, watchful that none escaped. They felt as¬ 
sured that success was sure to come in time, and 
a process of attrition, of exhaustion, they knew 
would win for them in the long run. Better a de¬ 
lay with the certainty of success than further at¬ 
tempt at assault in the face of those deadly rifles. 

As the day wore on the situation became more 
critical. A council of war was held within the 
barricade. Smoke begrimed, hollow-eyed, the 
leaders assembled, leaving only the watchful 
pickets on guard. 

“Men, it’s about over for us. The end is not 
far off,” proclaimed Skinner Smith in dramatic 
tones. “It's got down now to a fight to a finish, 
the only question being about the date of the 
finish. The sooner we get all the women and chil¬ 
dren and the wounded into the bank building and 
prepare for the last stand, the better. We can put 
the women and youngsters on the top floor, and 
fight it out down below, step by step. ’’ 

41 



42 


THE KANSAN 


1 ‘ The worst of it seems to be that we will soon 
have nothing to fight with,” said Jonathan Butler, 
his jovial face for once quite grave. “Our am¬ 
munition is about all gone. We can parcel it out 
and hold them off until nightfall, provided they 
do not attack in force again as they did at day¬ 
break, but after that—God help us.” 

Jason Hull listened attentively. He had re¬ 
ceived a scalp wound in the morning’s fight, but 
had insisted on attending the war council. The 
crimson stains were showing through the band¬ 
ages on his forehead, but he sat erect. His whole 
attitude was determined, resourceful. 

“Men, there is just one chance for us,” he 
said, in his positive, assuring way. “We’ve got to 
get somebody through the lines with a message 
to Fort Harper for help. The ride to Harper is 
not a hard one, once the courier is through the 
lines. But the getting through, there’s the rub.” 

“No man can get through that ring of red 
devils, day or night,” stoutly declared a discour¬ 
aged settler. 

“Possibly not, but it’s our only chance, and is 
worth a trial,” answered Jason Hull. 

“They will get us before help could come from 
the Fort, even if we could get word through the 
lines,” asserted another. “They’ll burn us out 
before morning.” 

“They’d have burned us out long ago, if that 
had been their game,” said Skinner Smith, who 
knew Indians of old. “They haven’t burned us 
out for one reason alone, and they will not attempt 
to burn us in the future for the same reason. They 
want to loot this town, not burn it. It looks like 
they might loot it, too, before so very long.” 

“How long?” asked Banker Hull. 


THE NIGHT HIDE 


43 


“Oh, probably tomorrow morning, along about 
daylight, I should say,” replied Smith, quietly. 

“That’s my guess, also, so we must get word 
to Fort Harper in time. It can’t be done before 
night, will be doubtful even then, but that’s the 
time to try for it. Who will volunteer ?” 

Among the few that stepped forward was Jim 
Brandon. “Lad, what do you hope to accom¬ 
plish ?” asked Jason Hull, kindly. “Remember 
this is a ruan’s job, and a mighty risky one at that. 
I doubt if even our best scout can make it.” 

“I think I can get through the lines,” replied 
the lad, stoutly. ‘ 4 1 have a plan, and I am willing 
to try it, if you’ll let me.” 

“Sheer nonsense,” sneered Steve Osborn, back 
in the crowd. 

Instantly Jim turned, his eyes ablaze. 

“What do you know about my plan?” he 
snapped. “I don’t see you among the volunteers. 
I’m talking to them.” 

“The kid is right,” shouted Jonathan Butler. 
“Let’s hear what he has to say, anyway.” 

“Speak up, lad. Tell us your plans,” said 
Hull, who was acting as chairman of the council. 

Thus encouraged, Jim told them of his hopes. 
He was small. He could skulk and crawl with 
the stealth and cunning of the Indians themselves. 
He knew the trail to Fort Harper well. He felt 
that he could get through the lines. Once 
through, his pony, “Bet,” would come to him in 
answer to his whistle. The only task for those in¬ 
side would be to hold the mare in readiness to be 
released through the barricade when he called. 
Opening the barricade might entail some risk, but 
the whole thing was a risk, anyway. Once out¬ 
side the lines he would chance the mare reaching 
him. Once she reached him she was fleet enough 


44 


THE KANSAN 


to protect him. Thus Jim argued earnestly. The 
council was quiet. 

“It would he murder to send that kid out, and 
it would be suicide to open the barricade at any 
time, day or night,’’ said Steve Osborn. 

“I’m inclined to line up with the kid,” said 
Banker Hull, kindly. “You haven’t offered us a 
way out, Steve.” 

“Yes, if you have any heroic plans in your sys¬ 
tem for saving Bison City, out with ’em or stay 
shut up,” admonished Skinner Smith. “It’s a 
terrible chance, we all know. But we likewise 
know the fix we are in. We know just how desper¬ 
ate the situation is, and just what will happen to 
us sooner or later, probably sooner. I’m for the 
kid. He has the nerve. I’m for giving him a 
chance. If he falls down there will still be a 
chance for others to try. His plans sound all right 
to me. I believe he can make it. What do you 
say, men?” 

“Agreed,” came the hearty response of many. 

And so it came about that Jim was to make 
the attempt in the darkness that night. When his 
mother heard of it, she grew hysterical, declaring 
that the boy was her all, and that he must not go. 
But others explained the desperate nature of their 
situation, and by dusk she was somewhat quieted, 
and when Jim slipped away at twilight, her kiss 
fresh upon his forehead, his heart beat wildly 
with the excitement of the approaching great ad¬ 
venture. As he bade the pioneer leaders good¬ 
bye, and just before he vanished into the dusk, 
he said to them cheerily: 

“ If it will only continue cloudy for half an hour 
longer, I’ll make it. It may take longer than I 
think. Don’t be discouraged, no matter how long 


THE NIGHT HIDE 


45 


it takes; and, above all, do not fail to release Bet 
promptly if I call. It all depends on her.” 

As Jim bugged the ground and wriggled his 
way slowly outward, the suspense inside the barri¬ 
cade was heartbreaking. He was soon lost to 
view. He was unarmed, preferring to travel light 
and to trust everything to his skill acquired in 
stalking antelope, plus the fleetness of the mare in 
case he succeeded in getting through. Minutes 
seemed hours to the anxious watchers. Bet, now 
brought close to the barricade for the great emer¬ 
gency, idly cropped the coarse, brown grass at her 
feet, unmindful of the part she was to play in the 
drama. 

Big-hearted Jonathan Butler was almost in 
tears as the time dragged, and still no signal came. 
His voice was husky as he said: 

“Pm afraid they have nabbed him. We should 
have heard from him long before this. His half 
hour was up long ago. Well, possibly the lad was 
lucky after all in meeting his fate a few hours in 
advance of the rest of us. He accepted his chance 
like a man, anyway.” 

“What was that?” came from the lips of an ex¬ 
cited watcher. 

No need for those to ask who were with the mare. 
Her head was held high, ears thrown forward,body 
tense, muscles twitching. She had heard the faint 
call before the others. The second time, all heard 
it. By this time Bet had located the direction of 
the sound, and with ears laid back, in one wild 
leap she cleared the barricade! No need to clear 
the way for her! She was without saddle or 
bridle, at Jim's request, and was free as the 
breezes of the October night. There were the 
thunder of hoofs and a chorus of savage yells as 
she sped on her way. Then the eager listeners 


46 


THE KANSAN 


again heard the call, this time lond and clear. 
Shots followed, more yells, and the hoof-beats 
grew fainter and fainter. 

That was all Bison City knew of the great ad¬ 
venture. Jim’s plan of escape had worked. He 
had wriggled his way through the inside lines. 
Once he found himself fairly under the feet of a 
gaunt Indian sentinel, and his heart almost 
stopped beating. Precious moments were passing, 
yet he dared not move. The Indian shifted his 
position a few feet, and Jim again made progress. 
At another time the moon peeped out from a 
cloud, flooding the prairie with golden light just 
when the youth was in an exposed position. He 
was thus compelled to lie flat without moving a 
muscle for what seemed hours. Again came the 
friendly darkness, and he wormed his way finally 
into the kindly ravine that led down the long 
slope toward Willow Creek and the plain beyond. 
For the first time he felt the thrill of real hope, 
the possibility that he might succeed. He knew 
that there were savages all about him, but he de¬ 
termined to risk his call, first low and prepara¬ 
tory, then louder, clearer. He distinctly heard 
the thunder of his pony’s hoofs, so for the first 
time he sprang to his feet and once more gave the 
call, ringing, clear. There must be no chance 
of missing her now, or all was lost. She came 
to him straight as an arrow. He made a wild leap 
for her back just as a huge form lunged out of the 
darkness and grabbed for him. There was a flash 
and the whistle of a bullet, but he urged the mare 
on, his hands clutched in her mane, his body ex¬ 
tended along her back. The yells that followed, 
the pandemonium that at once broke loose only 
urged the fugitives on the faster. The thunder 
of hoofs in the rear told him plainly that he was 


THE NIGHT RIDE 


47 


being pursued, that the race for life was on. 
Friendly clouds still hid the moon, and his pony 
was the swiftest on the prairie. In fact, the 
sounds of pursuit were growing fainter already. 
Truly Bet was a wonder, and never had she 
shown such mettle as now. He patted her gently 
on the neck as he clung close to her while she made 
mile after mile, never slackening her speed. 

Finally, the sounds of pursuit died out alto¬ 
gether, and the youth slowed the mare down to a 
gallop. He was well along on his journey, but the 
message was important, and there was no time for 
delay. Even the kindly moon, peeping out from 
behind a cloud, cheered him now and made the way 
clearer. The low range of hills off to the left, 
assured him of his ground. He was on the right 
track for Fort Harper, off there in the distance, 
only a question of a few hours of hard riding. 
That part of it was easy compared with what he 
had been through. His courage mounted higher. 
He was sure to succeed now, sure to bring the 
troops from the fort in time to rescue the loved 
ones at Bison City. 

But there were events that night on the prairie 
of which Jim Brandon knew nothing. The Indian 
uprising was general throughout the entire South¬ 
west. There were prowling bands of savages in 
war paint everywhere. As the boy’s courage 
mounted his caution decreased. He did not note 
the skulking forms against the sky-line to the 
east. The repeated howls of the coyote and the 
calls of the night hawk were but the usual sounds 
of the night to him. Fort Harper was on ahead, 
his only objective now. 

Then followed the ambuscade into which Jim 
Brandon rode fearlessly, all unsuspecting, for he 
was only a boy, unused to Indian cunning. The 


48 


THE KANSAN 


awakening was terrific. There was a pistol shot, 
then a scattering volley. A wild horseman flitted 
directly across his path, apparently from no¬ 
where. A second phantom horseman suddenly 
appeared close by his side. As Jim turned his 
head there was the hiss of a lairat and Bet went 
down with a thud, pinning the leg of the lad be¬ 
neath her heaving flank. As he fell, there was a 
vision of a painted, savage face close beside him. 
A bare arm swung a clubbed rifle. There was the 
crush of contact—then oblivion. 

When Jim Brandon regained consciousness the 
hideous savage phantom had vanished, and he was 
looking up into the kindly face of Lieutenant 
Clark, of Troop B, from Fort Harper. 

“Pretty close call, lad,” the lieutenant was 
saying. “If it hadn’t been for those shots it 
would have been all day for you. Who are you, 
boy? What are you doing out on the plains at 
this time of night?” 

Jim’s mind was rather hazy. It had all hap¬ 
pened so suddenly, and the blow on the head had 
nearly proved his undoing. His head was fairly 
bursting now, and the leg that had been pinned 
down under the mare, was hurting frightfully. 

“Where are we?” asked Jim, rather wildly. 

“Perfectly safe, lad, and quite close to Fort 
Harper. You will be able to ride in with us as 
soon as I get you fixed up.” 

The mention of Fort Harper recalled to Jim 
some faint memory of his mission. He sat bolt 
upright. He rubbed his head where the great welt 
was rising, and where blood trickled from a minor 
scratch, and tried to think. Then he remembered, 

“Bison City, Bison City!” he fairly screamed. 
“ Go! Quick! ’ ’ 

He fumbled for an instant with feeble hand in- 


THE NIGHT BIDE 


49 


side his blouse. The lieutenant instantly sur¬ 
mised that there was a message. 

“Something important in there, lad? Let me 
help you,” and slipping his hand inside the blouse 
he soon brought forth the message. It was well 
that he took the initiative, for the excitement 
proved too much for the boy, and he was again 
limp in the soldier’s arms. 

‘ 4 Here, Harker, hold him. Somebody strike a 
light so I can read this message.” 

Lieutenant Clark was a man of action. 

“Men, this note says that Bison City is sur¬ 
rounded by Indians, and that defenders are out of 
ammunition. We must ride there as fast as we 
can go. Even now we may be too late. We can’t 
afford to lose any time. Harker, you take this 
boy to the fort, and notify the commander of our 
mission, and request that reinforcements follow 
us promptly.” 

The big trooper addressed saluted and took the 
boy in his arms. There was the rattle of sabers as 
the members of Troop B mounted at the com¬ 
mand of Lieutenant Clark and rode off in hot 
haste straight across the plains for Bison City. 

Excitement at the fort was intense when the big 
trooper and the wounded boy rode in, shortly 
after midnight, and the trooper delivered his 
alarming message to the commander. There was 
hasty action. Shrill bugle calls resounded, and 
the hardy soldiers were soon ready for the long 
ride. Jim was under the surgeon’s care a few 
moments, and came out with his head neatly band¬ 
aged, but limping painfully on his injured leg. 
Still, he insisted on returning with the troops to 
Bison City. And as the soldiers rode out of the 
fort and swung into a steady gallop across the 


50 


THE KANSAN 


prairie, Jim Brandon, on a fresh mount, rode with 
them, tired, sore, but determined. 

The situation at Bison City became more and 
more acute as the night wore on, and yet no re¬ 
lief came. The wounded were suffering. The de¬ 
fenders were weary and sleepless, the last of the 
ammunition clutched in nervous hands. Prepara¬ 
tions were made for the last stand at the Hull 
bank building. The women, children, and the 
wounded were huddled in the hall and office rooms 
above the bank. Lookouts were placed on the 
roof. Below, the pioneers prepared to fight it out 
to the death. Only scattered pickets now re¬ 
mained on the outposts along the barricade, to de¬ 
lay as long as possible the attack, sure to come in 
force at dawn. They realized their danger fully, 
yet courageous and unyielding they determined to 
make the victors pay as dearly as possible for 
their success. 

With the first faint streaks of dawn the watch¬ 
ers were ready for the final struggle. Tired eyes 
strained for the first sign of what they knew to 
be the final assault. Suddenly it came. Shadowy 
forms arose as if by magic, close beside the bar¬ 
ricade. 

“God! Look yonder,” cried Skinner Smith, 
“they are already over the barricade.” 

In the dim light he pointed excitedly to where 
some of the pickets were in hand-to-hand combat 
with the invaders. Others were running wildly 
for the shelter of the bank building. 

“It’s come at last,” cried Jonathan Butler. 
“Be careful of these last shots, men. Make them 
all count.” 

The last feeble volley flashed from windows and 
doorway, knives were drawn, and guns were club¬ 
bed for the final fray, when a wild cheer broke 


THE NIGHT RIDE 


51 


from the lookouts on the roof. Something mo¬ 
mentous had happened. Even the nerved fighters 
below realized that. Dawn revealed savages scur¬ 
rying back over the barricade and scrambling 
wildly for their ponies or hastily skulking down 
draws, on foot. Nor was this all. Away off 
against the sky-line appeared the blue uniforms 
of the horsemen of Troop B, riding like the wind. 
The Indians had discovered them long before the 
whites, and were heating a hasty retreat. Lieuten¬ 
ant Clark’s troopers were few in number, but 
they inspired wholesome respect. In the uncer¬ 
tainty of dawn their numbers were not known. 
Cautiously but rapidly the redskins withdrew to 
await developments. The rejoicing at Bison City 
knew no bounds as the thin line of troopers came 
galloping on the scene. 

In less than an hour, reinforcements from Fort 
Harper were sighted. By this time not an Indian 
was in sight on all the broad expanse of prairie. 
The reinforcements soon came galloping into town 
with a great flourish. Among them was the hero of 
the hour, young Jim Brandon. Pale, heavy-eyed, 
he rode beside the leaders, his head bandaged, his 
injured leg throbbing painfully. 

When the crowd caught sight of him, he was 
lifted from the saddle despite his childish pro¬ 
tests. He was carried on the shoulders of the 
settlers in triumph to his mother, who fairly 
smothered him in her embrace. 

4 4 Three cheers for Jim Brandon, who saved 
Bison City,” cried Jonathan Butler. The cheers 
were given with thankful hearts and sturdy 
voices, for Jim had won, and saved the day. 


CHAPTER V 


“A-Hunting We Will Go” 

The coming of the troops put renewed courage 
into the hearts of the pioneers at Bison City. The 
strong arm of the United States had finally been 
extended for their protection. The savages were 
gone. The golden haze of Indian summer was in 
the air. It was good to be alive at such a time. 
They were a hardy lot, ready to return to their 
homesteads as soon as there was assurance that 
the redskins would trouble no more. 

Within the town all was bustle and activity. 
The old order was being rapidly restored. 
Wagons were withdrawn from the barricade, live¬ 
stock rounded up, personal belongings, that dur¬ 
ing the time of stress were used in common, were 
now sorted out and their ownership established. 
Streets were cleared, stores again opened, and 
the town in its feeble way began again the effort 
to live up to its reputation as established by 
Jonathan Butler of being the “Metropolis of the 
Great Southwest. ’ ’ In the work of reconstruction, 
the soldiers gave friendly assistance while await¬ 
ing reports from the scouts sent out on the trail 
of the savages. 

The second morning after the raising of the 
siege, more troops arrived from Fort Harper, 
under orders to co-operate with the troops al¬ 
ready in the field and to clear the valley of all 
Indians. This was the order the troops had been 
anxiously awaiting. 

“Nearly two days’ start,” complained Dave 

52 


“A-HUNTING WE WILL GO” 


53 


Fallon, a weather-beaten scout with years of fron¬ 
tier service to his credit. “Always the same 
story. Injuns are naturally smart about some 
things. They’ve learned white men’s ways all 
right. They know they can pull off their devil¬ 
ment and make a getaway long before the troops 
are ordered to move against them. I’m for the 
army all right, red tape and all, but I believe that 
Texas, with her rangers, has the proper solution 
of the Injun question. The rangers go right out 
and get ’em. I know, for I have scouted with 
them. ’ ’ 

“Washington doesn’t understand the situa¬ 
tion,” said Hull, who had been an interested 
listener. 

“No, and Washington never does understand 
it until after troops are sacrificed and defenseless 
settlers are scalped. The government thinks every 
Injun on the reservation is a good Injun, and that 
he will always stay good. We know different. 
It’s when he’s off the reservation that there’s a 
chance to make a real good Injun out of him, and 
we should never be hampered with orders at such 
a time.” 

“Good Indians?” queried Jason Hull. 

“Sure,” said the scout, “there’s only one kind 
of good Injuns, and that’s dead ones!” 

Preparations for the campaign were soon made, 
and when the troops rode out on the long trail, 
Jim Brandon rode with them. He was as proud 
of this honor as the troops were to have him 
with them. He was the special friend of the 
scout, Dave Fallon, who had taken a great liking 
to the boy. This attachment was mutual, and the 
two soon became fast friends. There were days 
upon days of hard riding over the brown prairies 
and glistening alkali basins. There was game in 


54 THE KANSAN 

abundance, but few signs of the Indians they 
sought. 

i1 Just what I expected,’’ growled Fallon to Jim, 
as they jogged along side by side with the troops. 
“ There will be no fight. All signs indicate that 
the Injuns are splitting up into small bands and 
attempting to sneak back to the reservation. If 
we should run onto any of the devils now, they 
would be sure to be hunting parties. All it takes 
to convert a war party into a hunting party is to 
rub off the war paint and call the squaws. ’ ’ 

Returning scouts confirmed Fallon’s predic¬ 
tions. There had been a slight skirmish with the 
troops up near the headquarters of Powder Creek. 
A small band of marauders had been surprised 
and caught red-handed down on the Wildcat flats. 
That was about all the couriers had to report. No 
organized bands were now in any part of the great 
valley. Days of hard riding on the part of the 
troops developed nothing new. The young bloods 
had had their fling. Charred embers of ruined 
homes up and down the valley were mute evidence 
of that. Savage hands had been dipped in the 
blood of defenseless settlers. New scalplocks 
were secreted in the wigwams. Now the nation’s 
wards could be depended upon to settle down to a 
quiet life at the winter quarters on the reser¬ 
vation, hundreds of miles away. It was the same 
disheartening old story to the soldiers, the same 
old, fruitless endeavor. They finally turned their 
mounts toward the southeast on the return jour¬ 
ney to the Fort. 

“Some day we’ll get ’em, son. Some day we 
will be strong enough to equip a squad of rangers 
that will be prepared to go after ’em right from 
the jump, and then stay after ’em until we get ’em. 
And say, boy, that will be some event, something 


“A-HUNTING WE WILL GO” 


55 


yon can’t afford to miss,” said Fallon to Jim as 
they resumed the homeward journey with the dis¬ 
gusted, travel-weary soldiers. 

They were moving through a veritable hunter’s 
paradise now, and Jim’s eyes fairly sparkled as 
he viewed the landscape from the top of a long, 
sloping ridge late one afternoon. As far as the 
eye could see, stretched the undulating plain. 
Here and there the landscape was dotted with 
herds of grazing antelope. Occasionally a stray 
buffalo could be seen, evidence that the great 
herds were somewhere in the vicinity. Great 
covies of prairie grouse arose with a roar of wings 
from almost beneath their horses’ feet. Away off 
to the south, along the river bottoms, great clouds 
of wild fowl at times arose, then settled back to 
the quiet of the ponds and river bayous. On a 
distant knoll huge sandhill cranes performed 
their queer antics, hopping and whirling at times 
in wild abandon. The fall flight was on and the 
shrill pipe of the plover and curlew mingled with 
the honk of the wild goose. 

“Isn’t it wonderful?” cried the boy, the wine 
of youth and the joy of late October in his bound¬ 
ing blood. 

“Wait, boy. Wait till you see the buffalo,” 
replied the scout. “We are pretty sure to run 
into a big herd before we get back. If we do, then 
you will see something worth while, and we can 
have some real sport.” 

“Are the herds really so large?” asked the boy. 

“Sure, miles and miles of ’em,” said the scout. 
“It’ll sure open your eyes, sonny. Mind what I 
am telling you.” 

And Jim waited patiently, day after day as they 
jogged along with the troops. But his patience 
was sorely tested as the end of the journey ap- 


56 


THE KANSAN 


proached and still no buffalo had been sighted. 

“ You say we will be home within another day or 
two?” asked Jim. 

“We could make it to Bison City in less than a 
day of hard riding,” replied the scout. “What’s 
the matter kid? You look kind o’ blue. Ain’t 
you had enough of this riding yet ? I should think 
you would be tickled to get back home. 

Jim’s face had lost its alertness, was even sor¬ 
rowful. 

“It’s about the buffalo,” he said. “You told 
me we were sure to sight a big herd before 
we reached home. All we have seen have been 
weak cows with calves or old strays all but ready 
for the coyotes. I want to see a real herd. I want 
to kill a buffalo. ’ ’ 

“Well, you w T ill hardly find any in this locality. 
Wait until we reach the flats of the Arkansas,” 
said the scout, knowingly. “Then, maybe we’ll 
see a few, but don’t get your expectations too 
high. ’ ’ The scout winked hard at the trooper on 
his left. He had been watching the signs carefully 
for several days. 

Late that afternoon they reached the bluffs 
overlooking the river. One look down the great 
valley was enough. Away off to the west great 
clouds of dust arose above a dark, undulating 
mass. 

“Look, son, they are on the move, and not 
grazing, as I expected,” called the scout. 

The whole troop had halted. Young Jim 
shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed long and 
intently at the huge mass moving over the prairie 
for miles. 

“Buffalo?” he gasped. 

“Sure thing. Pretty fair herd, too. They are 


“A-HUNTING WE WILL GO” 57 

on the move now, but will settle down to grazing 
before nightfall.” 

The soldiers were keen for a hunt, and plans 
were made accordingly. Couriers were at once 
sent to notify the settlers of Bison City of the ap¬ 
proach of the herd, with the request that wagons 
be sent out to haul in the meat. 

“At the rate they are going now, they will cross 
the river somewhere below Jackson’s Ford. 
That’s about the nearest place the herd will come 
to Bison City. Tell ’em all to be on hand, all of 
’em that wants a winter ’s supply of meat. We 
will sure load ’em up out of that bunch,” said 
Dave Fallon. 

Jim could hardly keep his eyes from that mov¬ 
ing jumble away to the west. It was an amazing 
sight. 

44 Let’s get after them. They’ll get away,” 
cried the excited lad. 

44 Take it easy, son,” cautioned the scout. “You 
don’t know buffalo as I do. There’s too many of 
’em. They can’t get away from us. They will 
stop to feed. They will feed and rest, wallow and 
fight. There’s no hurry. Wait for the wagons. 
Then the fun will begin. ’ ’ 

They went into camp that night beside a clear, 
bubbling brook, where grass was rank and their 
beds were of fragrant hay, but Jim slep fitfully. 
The thunder of the hoofs of the passing herd, 
shook the ground. There was a steady roar and 
rumble from the herd all night long. Next day 
the soldiers rested, waiting for the wagons. They 
bathed their dust-caked bodies in the pure 
stream, washed clothing, oiled carbines, strength¬ 
ened saddle cinches and leathers, and made gen¬ 
eral preparations for the big hunt. Messengers 
arrived that night from Bison City. Settlers were 






58 


THE KANSAN 


on the way to Jackson’s Ford with the wagons. 
The great herd had ceased its apparently endless 
march and had spread out over the valley in fan 
shape for miles. In the morning the sport was to 
begin. 

Jim Brandon had another restless night, and 
was up with the first gray streaks of dawn. So 
were the soldiers, too, for all were eager for the 
chase. 

“Lad, you can’t swing a carbine at this kind of 
work, but you can ride all right, and I’ll show 
you how to work with a six-shooter. I know you 
can shoot. Just keep your head cool and follow 
me when the fun starts,” advised Fallon. 

It was a crisp October morning when the long 
file of soldiers and scouts rode out on the frosty 
prairie to the slaughter. After a brisk ride of 
several miles they w r ere just over the ridge from 
the feeding thousands. 

“All right, boys,” came the sharp command. 
“Everybody up and at ’em. Use your own tactics, 
but work the herd steadily toward Jackson’s 
Ford. That will save a long haul on the meat. ’ ’ 

With a wild yell the riders rode over the ridge, 
straight into the herd. Soon the sharp crack of 
carbines sounded, mingled with the bellowing of 
the herd and the rumble of rushing hoofs as the 
startled animals got under way. 

“Follow me,” shouted the scout. Jim was 
close by his side. The uproar was now terrific. 

“Ride close up, lean over and point well under 
the fore leg and cut loose this way,” advised Fal¬ 
lon, suiting action to the words. At the crack of 
his revolver a huge beast stumbled and fell, then 
rolled over, kicking frantically. 

“Go to it, boy, get your share. Show ’em what 


“A-HUNTING WE WILL GO” 


59 


yon can do,” yelled Fallon, above the din, the ex¬ 
citement of the chase in his blood. 

Jim was an apt scholar. The buffalo were head¬ 
ing to the southeast. Dust was rising in clouds. 
There was the constant crack of carbines, husky 
shouts, and the bellowing of frightened beasts. 
In spite of the confusion, Jim steadied himself in 
the saddle and urged his pony to the chase. Pick¬ 
ing out a huge beast from among those close at 
hand, he gave chase. How the uncouth, shaggy 
beast could travel! Now Jim gained, for Bet was 
fleet. Now he was along side and the critical 
moment was at hand. Pulling his big revolver 
he leaned out from the saddle as he had seen Fal¬ 
lon do, placed his aim carefully and pulled the 
trigger. A thrill shot through him as he saw the 
big buffalo come to its knees. It showed an in¬ 
stant’s flash of bloodshot eye, then rolled over 
with a heavy thud. He felt a wild desire to dis¬ 
mount and inspect his first big game, but the 
stampede of hoofs warned him that this was not 
to be. The skinners and butchers were to follow 
in their wake. That was to be their task. His 
was to kill. 

Ahead of him Dave Fallon was riding like, the 
wind, revolver cracking merrily. In all directions 
the kill was on. Jim spurred up beside the scout, 
picked out a second beast and sent him to earth, 
then a third and fourth. But the sport soon be¬ 
came merely a slaughter. The prairie ran red 
with blood, and he drew rein well outside the 
clamor. For miles to the rear it seemed the 
prairie was dotted with the stiffening carcasses. 

Others were now giving up the chase. The 
wagons of the settlers could be seen in the dis¬ 
tance. The work of saving the huge store of meat 
would soon be in full swing. The great herd was 


60 


THE KANSAN 


plunging madly across the river at Jackson’s 
Ford and at other crossings up and down the val¬ 
ley. It had been a morning of wild excitement. 
There was rejoicing among the settlers, and the 
soldiers were in a merry mood. Bison City cele¬ 
brated fittingly that night, keeping it up until long 
after the last rumbling wagon rolled in from the 
flats at Jackson’s Ford, loaded heavily with the 
wholesome meat. 

Skinner Smith had not been with the party on 
account of a slight wound in the shoulder, re¬ 
ceived that last morning in one of the picket sta¬ 
tions at the barricade. But he was around when 
the wagons came in. He listened to the stories of 
the great hunt, and received his share of the meat 
with thankfulness. It was only after he had in¬ 
quired about the hides that he became excited. 

“No hides brought in? Too busy with the 
meat? Nobody wanted them, anyway?” gasped 
Smith as he heard the replies. “Well, what do 
you know about that?” 

Long after midnight Skinner Smith’s wagon 
and bronchos were headed across the starlit 
prairie for the flats at Jackson’s Ford, Smith sit¬ 
ting erect upon the spring seat, lines across his 
sound shoulder, guiding with his well hand, the 
Smith youngsters sleepily ensconsed in the hay 
in the back part of the wagon. As he drove, he 
mumbled to himself: 

“Too busy! Nobody wanted ’em! Probably 
over a hundred prime hides. Maybe two hundred. 
Worth at least two dollars apiece. Maybe four 
hundred dollars, provided the coyotes don’t beat 
me to ’em. Get up there, bronchos!” and away 
rumbled the Smiths on sordid business bent. 

The festivities and celebration over the big 


“A-HUNTING WE WILL GO” 


61 


hunt continued the next day in Bison City until 
long after the last of the troops had departed. 

Coming down town on the main street that 
morning, Jason Hull encountered Steve Osborn. 
The hanker hailed him. 

‘ ‘ Steve, I’d like to have a word with you. ’ 9 

“All right, Mr. Hull, tire away.” 

“Steve, I didn’t see you out with the settlers 
after meat yesterday. Nearly every able-bodied 
man in town was there. Where were you, Steve ? ’ 9 

Steve Osborn colored: “I had other business.” 

“All right, Steve, it’s about that other business 
that I want to speak to you. I think I know what 
that other business was about. During the ab¬ 
sence of most of the men, yesterday, that gambler, 
Curly Clawson somehow made his escape from 
jail. He’s an absolute crook, Steve, and no re¬ 
sponsible man can afford to associate with him, 
let alone befriend him. Now that he’s gone, 1 
hope he stays away. We have no use for that 
class of cattle in Bison City.” 

“What have I to do with Curly Clawson?” 
snapped Steve Osborn, his anger rising. 

“That’s a question I would like to have you 
answer yourself, Steve,” blandly replied the 
banker. 

“Well, Hull, you are welcome to your sus¬ 
picions, you and the rest of the damned knockers 
in this town, but don’t try to start something you 
can’t stop. Be just a little careful how you hand 
out your insinuations in the future, or there may 
be some real trouble. For the present I don’t 
need anybody to preach to me nor to pick my 
associates for me. If I ever do feel the need of a 
preacher, I’ll call for a real parson.” Steve 
turned on his heel and started to leave. 

“Hold on there, Steve,” cried Hull, the ring of 



62 


THE KANSAN 


steel in his voice. “You can’t bluff me with that 
line of talk and get away with it that easily. I 
know more than I have told you so far. I’ve tried 
to talk to you in a friendly way, because I really 
want to see you on the right side. You still have 
a chance to line up with real men. ’ ’ 

“I told you before that I didn’t care for preach¬ 
ing. They tell me you are planning to be the next 
candidate for congress from this district. Do you 
think this policy will get you anywhere?” 

At this, Hull boiled over: “ I may be a candidate 
and I may not, but if my election depended upon 
the gamblers, the hold-up men, the horse thieves 
and the all-around crooks of this new country, 
then I would much prefer to stay at home. Is 
that plain to you? I don’t want your support, 
Steve, nor that of any of the gang you are secretly 
in league with. I know that I can’t prove all my 
claims now. You can continue to hold your head 
up among men a while longer, but it will take more 
than your monumental nerve to carry you safely 
through. You will have to be decent or go under 
one of these days. As for me, I’ll tell you right 
now, if you don’t change, I’m done with you for 
good.” 

Having thus delivered himself freely, Banker 
Hull walked abruptly away. He had made an 
enemy for life, for Steve Osborn was not only 
cunning but vengeful. 


CHAPTER VI 


The Masked Horsemen 

The settlers assembled at Bison City had been 
hopeful, even cheerful at times, until they went 
out to inspect their homes after the great Indian 
raid. To a man, they returned discouraged, 
thoroughly disheartened. Each had the same 
doleful story to tell of burned homes, ruined crops 
and stolen or slaughtered livestock. Winter was 
approaching, grim, heartless winter on the bleak 
prairie. The situation was desperate. 

Instinctively they looked to Jason Hull as 
leader. He called a public meeting. He told them 
that he realized their condition and would do all 
he could for them. He stated frankly that the re¬ 
sources of his bank were limited, but that his faith 
in the new country was firm, and that for all who 
had the courage to resume life on the homesteads 
he would advance funds in limited amount. 

Jonathan Butler then rose. 41 Friends, we are 
in for a spell of temporary hard times. We will 
be forced to economize to the limit. But we are 
here. Most of us couldn’t leave if we wanted to, 
haven’t anything to pay our way out. We’ve got 
to stay. Let’s make the best of it. Better times 
are coming. Those who stick are sure to reap the 
benefit. Let’s get back to the homesteads. That’s 
where I am going if I have to live in a dugout 
until spring. A dugout is good and warm. So is 
a sod house, properly built. There is no need of 
being proud. We are all in the same fix. There 
is time to get comfortably fixed yet, before winter 


64 


THE KANSAN 


sets in. Hull lias just promised to help tide ns 
over. We will need his help. His heart is big 
and his faith in the country and its people is un¬ 
limited. Let’s get hack to the homesteads.” 

The pioneers, with some doubts, yet with re¬ 
newed courage, again took up the conquest of the 
soil. 

Mrs. Brandon and Jim drove out to their home¬ 
stead on Willow Creek. As they sat in the wagon, 
gazing at the blackened embers of their former 
home, erected at such a sacrifice, Mrs. Brandon 
burst into tears. 

4 ‘Jim, it’s no use to try any longer. Fate is 
against us. I tried so hard to establish a home 
for you, my son. I haven’t the strength for 
another effort.” 

Jim was startled. He had never seen his mother 
in this mood before. Always she had appeared 
brave, determined. He realized for the first 
time that she was really failing, that she was frail 
and was growing weaker. 

“Mother, we can build a home here yet. Others 
are doing it. Why can’t we? I am growing 
stronger every day. I am strong enough to build 
a sod house.” He held out his firm little arm in 
confirmation. 

“Possibly you are stronger, son, but I am not. 
I have not told you before. I did not want to 
alarm you, but you must know it son, and prepare 
for it. I feel that I will not be with you long. ’ ’ 

At this Jim’s lips quivered and he threw his 
arms wildly about his mother’s neck. 

“No! No!” he cried, “you shan’t leave me. 
You were happy here. You were stronger here on 
the claim than ever before, and you were happy, 
too. Remember the prairie flowers I used to 
gather. Think of those great bouquets of prim- 


THE MASKED HORSEMEN 


65 


roses plucked in the evening. Mother, we must 
try once more. We will be happy yet. We must, 
we must!” 

“Son, it is sweet to hear your words, but the 
picture will not last. I know. I cannot tell you 
why, hut I feel that to begin out here would be 
folly. I would not live to see the work even 
started. You will be better off among friends 
in town, Jim.” 

For a time neither spoke as they nestled in 
each others arms. 

“Must we really give it all up, mother?” 
pleaded the boy. 

“Yes, son,” said Mrs. Brandon, sadly. “It is 
growing late. I can’t stand the night chill. We 
had better return to town.” 

Slowly the lad turned the team of ponies toward 
Bison City. His head was bowed. Tears stained 
his cheeks. This new blow seemed more than he 
could bear. Thus they jogged back across the 
plain. Lights were twinkling in Bison City long 
before they arrived. Stars were twinkling in the 
purple east. The call of the wild goose sounded 
high in the vibrant autumn evening, but the sound 
had lost its melody for Jim. 

Within one short week after their return, his 
mother’s prophecy was realized, and Jim faced 
the real tragedy of his life when the doctor called 
him to his mother’s bedside to say farewell. She 
had grown rapidly weaker since the ride out to the 
ruined prairie home, and had given up hope. Now 
the end was near. Jim advanced reverently to 
the bedside. He clasped the pale hand and buried 
his face in the coverlet, sobbing hysterically. 

“Mother! Mother!” was all he could say be¬ 
tween sobs. 

The mother stirred: “Jim—boy—-Pm going. 



66 


THE KANSAN 


Be brave. Goodbye, son. Good luck—God protect 
you.’ ’ 

Those were her parting words. It was a scene 
Jim Brandon never forgot. Friendly hands led 
him away. Words of comfort were spoken, but he 
did not hear them. Great floods of emotion welled 
up within him, memories of other days. He was 
an orphan now, friendless, alone. He thought of 
the day they laid his father to rest on the hillside 
at Baxter’s Ford; of the long, tedious drive to 
Bison City, and of his fears that last, event¬ 
ful night in the gathering dusk; of the sin¬ 
ister face of Steve Osborn; of the happy days 
on the homestead when the light of pleasure 
flashed in his mother’s eyes as he had heaped the 
bouquets of wild flowers in her lap; of the pleasant 
evenings they had spent together in their little 
prairie home; of their great plans for the future. 
And now it was all over, and he was alone, so 
very much alone, it seemed. 

The day of the funeral, as he stood disconsolate 
beside the newly made grave, a great, friendly 
hand was placed upon his shoulder and a kindly 
face peered down into his own. The man was 
Jonathan Butler. 

“Come away, Jim, I want to talk to you.” As 
they walked, Butler said: “Jim, this is a sad 
affair, but you’ve got to brace up and stand it. 
Courageous people always meet misfortune with 
a brave front, and I know you have a stout heart. 
You are small, but you are made of the right sort 
of stuff. What do you propose to do, now that you 
are alone?” 

“I don’t know. I haven’t any plans,” sobbed 
the boy. 

“I am glad to hear that,” said Jonathan 
Butler, cheerfully. “Jim, I have a plan already 


THE MASKED HORSEMEN 


67 


made for you. I want you to make your home with 
me. There’s only my wife and Marion at home. 
I’ve always wanted a son and, Jim, I like you. 
I’ll agree to do all I can for you. God knows 
it’s little enough these times, but it will mean a 
roof over your head so long as I have one to offer. 
What do you say, son? Will you make your home 
with us?” 

“Can I really be of any use to you, sir?” 

Jonathan Butler laughed softly. 

“Use? Well, I should say so! You have a good 
team of ponies. You are a natural hustler. We 
are going back onto the farm right away. This is 
no charitable proposition on my part. Jim, we 
really need you. I can’t stay on the farm all the 
time, and I guess I wasn’t cut out for a farmer, 
anyway. I’ve got bigger things brewing if this 
country ever pans out. I’ll let you run the farm, 
Jim. We’ll make a great team, we two. There’s 
big times coming, lad. Things won’t be this way 
for long. We have bumped up against one of the 
hard luck incidents of pioneering, but we came out 
alive and ought to be thankful. Better days are 
ahead. Well, what do you say, Jim?” 

“If you will take me, I’ll do the very best I 
can for you,” replied the boy earnestly. 

“That’s fine, Jim, just fine and dandy,” said 
Butler as he beamed upon the boy. “I’ve found 
a son. You will not regret this, my boy. You will 
work because you like it, it’s in you to be that way. 
But I see more than work for you. I want to see 
you educated and become a man among men. You 
will go far, Jim, if given half a chance. I’ll do my 
best to see that you have a chance. ’ ’ 

And so it came about that Jim Brandon made 
his home with Jonathan Butler. Not alone the 
Butler family,but all the old neighbors and friends 



68 


THE KANSAN 


were land to him. He now had a home, but there 
were many lonely days and nights. Even youth¬ 
ful hopes are not buried in a day, and many were 
the evenings when he wandered alone out over the 
starlit prairie, communing with no one, often re¬ 
turning’ to rest with tear-stained cheeks. He was 
fighting his battles alone. 

It was upon one of these lonely strolls in the 
dark, shortly after making his home with the But¬ 
ler family, that Jim became informed of some of 
the under-currents of the community. His favor¬ 
ite walk had been down along the winding road 
that stretched away toward the military outposts 
of Fort Harper and Fort Sill. Upon this par¬ 
ticular night he had wandered farther than usual, 
and kept going until he saw, straight ahead, the 
fringe of willows at the Elk Creek ford. As he 
reached the trees he heard voices and the sound 
of horses splashing through the ford. Thoughts 
of Indians at once flashed in his mind as he quick¬ 
ly pushed his way among the scrubby branches, 
the only cover on the plains for miles. 

Again he heard the voices, this time raised in 
anger. He could tell by the tones that the speak¬ 
ers were white men, and felt some relief. The 
horsemen were soon opposite him, then went on 
past. Suddenly, one who seemed to be the leader, 
jerked his horse directly across the trail, and drew 
his revolver. The cavalcade halted abruptly. As 
near as Jim could make out, all the riders were 
masked. In the dusk he could not be sure. He 
decided that he would remain hidden, no matter 
what happened. As the leader, with drawn 
weapon, halted the night riders, he said: 

‘ ‘ Curly, you are not going, I say. I mean it.’ 9 

So this was Curly Clawson’s gang! Jim held 
his breath. He thought he recognized the voice of 


THE MASKED HORSEMEN 


69 


the leader. He was not sure. There was a great 
shuffling of horses’ feet and creaking of saddle 
leather. Then the rider, addressed as Curly, re¬ 
plied : 

“Why not? I want revenge, and I am going 
to have it. I swore I would shoot up the town, and 
I’ll do it. Think of them sticking me in their 
damned, old jail, like some Mexican greaser. I in¬ 
tend to pay ’em for it this very night. Get out of 
my way! ’ ’ 

Dark as it was, Jim could catch the glint of 
steel as the leader’s revolver was leveled. 

“Stop! Curly Clawson, you know who’s boss 
here. Haven’t you a lick of sense? Who got you 
out of jail? Where would you he now if it hadn’t 
been for me? You claim you have big plans on 
for tonight. Why don’t you go ahead and carry 
them out instead of whining around like a school¬ 
boy wanting revenge ? There’s a safer and more 
profitable way of getting your revenge. Go get 
it.” 

“That’s right,” came in a chorus from the 
other riders. 

“He is shore talkin’ sense, Curly,” argued 
another. “Cut out this fool idea of shootin’ up 
Bison City. Let’s go.” 

“Of course I’m talking sense. Anybody but a 
madman or a plain drunk would know that. 
Wliat’s the matter, Curly? Is liquor getting the 
best of you?” 

The gang was against him. Due partly to the 
liquor that was in him and partly to pure stub¬ 
bornness, he undertook to ride past the leader. 

61 Halt! ’ ’ The command came sharp and clear. 
There was the click of steel. “Another foot, 
Curly, and I’ll fire. You are fooling with the 
wrong man. You should know better.” 









70 


THE KANSAN 


Friendly hands reached and clutched Curly’s 
bridle reins. Friendly words of advice cooled his 
anger, and the leader’s firmness sobered him. 

‘ 1 Maybe you’re right, but my time will come. 
If not tonight, then some other time. Come on, 
men, there’s some tall riding for tonight. Let’s 
get busy. I didn’t mean no offense, S—” 

The noise of hoofs drowned out the last word. 
Jim thought the word was “Steve,” but he was 
not sure. Likewise he thought he could recognize 
the hated tones of Steve Osborn in the voice of the 
leader, but his position in the willows was cramped 
and the stamping of the horses ’ feet made hearing 
indistinct. 

‘‘Sure, no offense all around men. We can’t 
afford to take any fool chances, that’s all,” said 
the leader, returning the revolver to his belt. 

The horsemen turned to go. Jim noticed that 
there were four of them besides the leader, who 
still remained with his horse across the trial lead¬ 
ing to Bison City. 

“Goodbye, boys, and good luck to you,” he 
called, as the gang wheeled and followed Curly 
Clawson in a cloud of dust, off down the Sun City 
trail. 

For several moments the lone horseman sat 
quietly watching the departing riders. 

“Fool,” he hissed, “he’ll run his neck square 
into the halter yet.” 

With a jerk he removed from his face what ap¬ 
peared to be a mask, turned his head quickly and 
spurring his horse, galloped leisurely down the 
trail toward Bison City. 

Young as he was, Jim knew there was some mis¬ 
chief afoot. Men did not ordinarily ride masked, 
upon the public highway. His mind was filled 


THE MASKED HORSEMEN 


71 


with queer surmises and reflections as he walked 
back home beneath the twinkling stars. What was 
the object of this secret night riding? Who was 
this chief that even a desperado like Curly Claw¬ 
son feared? Was the leader really Steve Osborn, 
or had he merely surmised the identity? Should 
he tell what he had heard? These and many other 
questions worried Jim that night as he trudged 
slowly homeward along the trail. 





CHAPTER VII 
Frontier Justice 


When news of the raid of the horse thieves 
reached Bison City there were mutterings and 
much silent preparation. Homesteaders who 
brought news of the raid, were furious over their 
losses. All reports agreed. The raiders had 
pursued their usual tactics by rounding up the 
stock during the night and heading straight south 
for the border and the refuge of the Indian Terri¬ 
tory. Only this time the outlaws were bolder, 
leaving a trail as plain as an open roadway, know¬ 
ing by long experience that constituted authority 
would be slow to act in this new land. Long be¬ 
fore pursuit could be organized they planned to be 
safely over the state boundary into the no-man’s- 
land of Indian Territory with their stolen prop¬ 
erty, free from arrest, secure and unmolested. It 
was this situation the citizens were called upon 
to face. The raid had robbed many of the settlers 
of their highly prized horses, their only means of 
support. They were in no mood to be trifled with. 

“Why wait for the law?” asked one of the 
indignant settlers. “They’ve got all my horses, 
but if some one will furnish me a mount I’ll 
promise to do my share toward enacting real 
justice. I’m strong for law and order—but I 
want my horses. If there were only a few men of 
real backbone in this crowd, then by thunder we 
would get them and also get the damned outlaws 
as well.” 

“My sentiments, exactly,” echoed another. 

72 


FRONTIER JUSTICE 


73 


“Haven’t we suffered enough already without 
having to stand for this outrage? No Indians are 
mixed up in this affair. It’s the work of a gang 
of white eut-throats that don’t deserve to live. A 
skunk who would steal a hoss from a settler de¬ 
serves to be hung. In fact, hanging is too blamed 
good for him.” 

“What’s this I hear?” asked Skinner Smith, 
who had just arrived in town. “Horse thieves 
again? Men, there is only one thing to do. We 
must take the law into our own hands this time. 
I can help outfit a party for the pursuit.” 

Skinner Smith had sold his buffalo hides and 
had invested most of the proceeds in hardy range 
ponies. Luckily his place was not in line of this 
last raid. 

“Men,” he said, “meet at my place within an 
hour. Come armed and provisioned. Say noth¬ 
ing to anybody. We may be going on a buffalo 
hunt, or a rabbit chase, or a cattle round-up. If 
we should happen to find those horses before we 
return, why of course we will be in luck, that’s 
all.” Smith winked knowingly and the crowd 
started to obey. 

“I’ll go on out to my ranch and get ready for 
you. Don’t lose any time. Bring plenty of pro¬ 
visions and ammunition, and an extra picket rope 
or two, we might need ’em. ’ ’ Again Smith winked 
knowingly. 

There was no cheering, no loud talk. The ex¬ 
asperated farmers were desperate. They were 
ready to form a party of vigilantes if that was 
what was required to put a stop to horse stealing. 
They were determined to recover the stolen 
horses and to make an example of the criminals. 
It was therefore a silent, well-armed and reso¬ 
lute body of horsemen that rode out from Smith’s 



74 


THE KANSAN 


ranch long before noon and swnng into a steady 
lope on the trail of the outlaws that led directly 
south for the breaks of the Cimarron river. They 
realized that the outlaws had hours the start, but 
hoped that the raiders would be over-confident and 
would not ride hard. 

The second night after the raid, the outlaws 
went into camp in the cottonwood grove where 
Elk Creek joins the Cimarron. Men were unsad¬ 
dling packs, hobbling horses and starting the 
campfire for the evening meal. Curly Clawson, 
no longer masked, sat idly on his horse, directing 
the operations. Beside him, on a splendid steed, 
was Steve Osborn. They had drawn aside pur¬ 
posely, and were engaged in earnest conversation. 

4 ‘Well, Curly, I have gone far enough. I am 
starting back now,” Osborn was saying. 

“Not now, Steve. At least stay and spend the 
night with us. You are not usually in such a 
hurry. ’ ’ 

“I think everything is safe, but you know I 
can’t afford to take unnecessary chances.” 

Curly Clawson leaned over close to Osborn as 
he cautiously replied: “I don’t think everything 
is safe, Steve. We have been slow and careless, 
and have left an open trail. There was a dust 
cloud over that ridge up north this afternoon. It 
may have been range cattle, or buffaloes, or it may 
have been riders. The others didn’t notice it, but 
I did. ’ ’ 

“I saw it, too,” said Steve Osborn. “That’s 
one of the reasons I am going.” 

“Then you think we are being followed?” 
Curly Clawson showed signs of nervousness. 
“The boys know what to do with the stock. I 
think I’ll go, too.” 

“Why, man, have you got cold feet so soon? I 


FRONTIER JUSTICE 


75 


thought you were not afraid of anybody,” taunted 
Steve. “Besides, you know we both can’t ride 
away now. The men would be suspicious. They 
are watching us closely even now.” 

4 ‘ I am not scared, but I am likewise no brand of 
fool in particular. That may have been dust 
raised by riders, and it may not. Anyhow, I have 
a hunch, and in this case, I am going to play it. 
Maybe we can’t get away together, but I leave 
this bunch before daylight,” he replied, low but 
meaningly. “Will you cover your trail? Where 
will you be?” 

“I am going up the open trail to the crossing 
of Bear Creek, then up the stream to the head¬ 
waters and over the high divide. Meet me any 
time you like. You know the route. It’sup to you, 
but I really thought you had more nerve,” were 
Osborn’s parting words as he galloped away in 
the purple twilight. 

That night, when all were asleep, except the 
herd guard, Curly Clawson stealthily, slyly as a 
creeping cat, edged his way out to the opposite 
side of the grove, saddle in hand. He at once sad¬ 
dled and mounted his favorite steed and cau¬ 
tiously rode away. He had not traveled many 
miles until his trained ear caught sounds of ap¬ 
proaching horsemen. Immediately he turned 
from the trail into the high ground, quickly dis¬ 
mounted and placed a restraining hand loosely 
over his horse’s nostrils. 

The moon was still up, and the sight he saw 
made Curly Clawson’s eyes bulge. Pursuers be¬ 
yond the shadow of a doubt, they were, grim and 
armed, a score or more, jogging along on the open 
trail. Curly Clawson cursed softly. 

“Never again such a trail as that. I’ve ex¬ 
pected this. Steve is a wise old owl, too. That 


76 


THE KANSAN 


bunch means business. They know the gang is 
camped in the cottonwood grove as well as I do.” 
Then he laughed harshly. 1 ‘ Guess I played that 
hunch to win all right.” He took a strong pull at 
his whiskey flash, then mounted and stole softly, 
swiftly away, abandoning his comrades to their 
fate. 

Curly Clawson was right in his surmise that the 
vigilantes knew where the outlaws were camped. 
Skinner Smith was familiar with every foot of the 
country from Bison City to the Territory line. 
He had guided the party well, and they were mak¬ 
ing the night ride in order to close upon the gang 
in a quick surprise. Arriving at the grove they at 
once surrounded it. They were determined, and 
their work was done promptly. The gang was 
completely surprised. Resistance was hopeless. 

“Where is Curly Clawson?” was the first de¬ 
mand of the leader of the vigilantes. 

‘ 1 Damned if we know,’ 9 came the surly reply. 

“Tell the truth, men, your time is short.” 

“He was here when we went into camp. He 
has sneaked out during the night. He is the man 
you are after,” said one of the outlaws. “We are 
no hoss thieves. We are merely running this 
bunch on a salary.” 

“Is the herd rounded up and ready for the re¬ 
turn trip?” asked the leader of the settlers. 

“It is.” 

“Are all the stolen horses here?” 

“They are.” 

“All right. Now, men, shall justice be admin¬ 
istered as agreed?” 

“Sure thing,” came a full chorus. 

“Ropes ready?” 

“Yes.” 

“As God is my judge, fellow citizens, this is 


FRONTIER JUSTICE 77 

but simple justice. Adjust the loops. Up they 
go!” 

The commands were promptly, eagerly obeyed. 
Not a word was spoken. The justice of these pio¬ 
neers was swift and silent. 

The herd of stolen horses was soon jogging 
slowly along the homeward trail. As the leader 
of the vigilantes turned in his saddle in the gray 
dawn for a final look, he said: 

“It’s too bad that Curly Clawson wasn’t with 
them. He’s slick, but we ’ll get him yet. Men, this 
has been stern business, but it had to be done. 
Remember when you return, that it will be well to 
answer no questions. It’s our business alone. 
Don’t talk. Now that the work is thoroughly ac¬ 
complished, let’s go.” 

The resolute little party took up the homeward 
march, all anxious to leave the cottonwood grove 
and the gruesome sight it held. 

After eluding the vigilantes, Curly Clawson 
rode hard for a time, determined to overtake 
Steve Osborn and inform him of the pursuit. 
Later, his curiosity mastered him and he decided 
to learn the fate of his companions in crime. It 
was daylight now, and he was on high ground, 
fairly in sight of the trail. He dismounted, lari¬ 
ated his horse well out of sight, then crawled to 
the crest of the ridge and waited. Lying flat on 
his stomach, the desperado shaded his eyes with a 
curved hand and searched the trail. He had not 
long to wait. Soon the herd of horses appeared 
on the trail, followed by the score or more of 
mounted vigilantes. There was no sign of cap¬ 
tives. The desperado wondered at this. Could it 
be possible that they had permitted the maruaders 
to go free, upon their delivering up the stock? 
Had there been a fight, the outlaws resisting to 


78 


THE KANSAN 


the death? His comrades were hardly of that met¬ 
tle. He resolved to find out what had happened. 
It was yet early in the day. He waited. Finally 
the last wisp of dust disappeared on the trail to 
the north. The avengers were well out of the way. 
There was no sign of life on the trail to the south¬ 
west. He mounted and rode straight down into 
the valley and, urging his horse into a steady gal¬ 
lop, headed direct for the cottonwood grove at the 
mouth of Elk Creek. 

He reached his destination before noon. All 
was quiet. He rode fearlessly into the cotton¬ 
woods. If there should be no news of his com¬ 
panions, the place was at least inviting for a noon 
camp and a siesta, for he was tired. Suddenly he 
grasped his bridle reins. What was that? Only 
the flapping of a huge buzzard’s wings as it rose 
from a distant cottonwood. What could be at¬ 
tracting buzzards to the grove? Another arose 
lazily and soared aloft, then another. Then, 
desperado though he was, and used to scenes of 
violence, Curly Clawson screamed with horror. 
Rounding a turn in the grove he had come full 
upon the scene of the tragedy. Involuntarily he 
placed a twitching hand before his face to shut 
out the awful spectacle. There, in broad daylight, 
the grinning, hideous forms of his three com¬ 
panions hung before him on the limb of a dead 
cottonwood, the silent bodies swaying to and fro, 
mere playthings of the prairie breeze. 

4 4 God! ’ ’ broke from the pallid lips of the ruffian, 
as he tightened his bridle reins and prepared to 
flee, “God! To think they’d dare to do a thing 
like that. Let me get out of here. Quick! Quick, 
you beast!” He applied quirt and spur with 
frantic vigor. Horse and rider fairly flew from 
the cottonwood grove and its scene of horror. 


FRONTIER JUSTICE 


79 


Hour upon hour Curly Clawson rode, never 
slackening speed. His tired horse was foam- 
covered, yet he urged his animal on, on and away; 
the farther away from the haunting, horrible 
scene in the grove, the better. His hands twitched 
nervously. His eyes bulged and rolled in their 
sockets, convulsively. He was raving now. Fre¬ 
quent recourse to his whiskey flask merely hast¬ 
ened his mental collapse. 

‘ 4 They had the nerve to hang ’em, by the neck!’ ’ 
he screamed, with fitful glances from side to side. 
‘‘They dared to do it, and I rode straight into 
their grinning bodies without knowing.” 

Again he screamed. His reason tottered. 

“Well, I’ll fix ’em, fix the whole damned bunch 
of ’em. They hung my boys, but I’ll get even 
with that outfit and Bison City as well.” 

He laughed a wild, hysterical laugh, slapped his 
tired horse with his sombrero, and continued his 
wild ride, babbling incoherently hut traveling 
steadily northward now, with fixed purpose. He 
rode all day. At evening he was well to the west 
of Bison City, making a wide detour to escape the 
settlement, yet bearing ever to the north, only 
stopping as he crossed streams that the exhausted 
pony might quench its thirst. For Curly Clawson 
there was no rest until his fiendish mission, horn 
of his disordered brain, was accomplished. By 
daylight the next morning he was miles to the 
north of Bison City and ready for his craven 
purpose. With patience and cunning he waited 
for the noon sun to dry the brown prairie grass. 
He watched every slight deflection of the wind 
with apprehension. It bore steadily from out the 
north, and he was reassured. 

Finally, with fiendish glee, he dismounted and 
touched a match to the matted grass in a deep 


80 


THE KANSAN 


ravine, saw the flames spring np with a roar, then 
mounted his jaded horse and rode directly to the 
south. He had not lost his sense of direction. 
His disordered, whiskey-fogged brain was still 
performing automatically. 

“Old Steve,” he mumbled, “I must warn old 
Steve. Bison City will sure burn now, and the set¬ 
tlers will catch hell, and they deserve it. Steve’s 
a skunk sometimes, but he saved me once. I’ll 
ride in ahead of the fire and warn him. He 
doesn’t deserve it, but I’ll do it. The boys didn’t 
deserve what they got, either, but they seemed to 
be grinning about it, ha! ha! ” His wild laughter 
sounded above the roar of the flames behind him. 

The fire was eating its way up over the side of 
the ravine now, and was spreading out in fan 
shape, rushing forward with frightful speed and 
roar. The demented desperado glanced back. His 
face blanched at the sight. 

“Maybe I won’t reach you in time, Steve, but 
I’ve tried.” Now he was weeping. “Come, hoss, 
move faster, faster!” Vainly he plied whip and 
spur. The poor beast only stumbled forward. 
The fire behind them was now a solid wall of 
flame, leaping forward with great bounds, at times 
the flames shooting high into the sky. The roar 
and crackle of the fire was terrifying. 

The onrush of flames scorched them. The tired 
horse stumbled and fell. There was a wild, quav¬ 
ering yell, then the great wall of flame engulfed 
both horse and rider. Curly Clawson’s bandit 
days were over. He had fallen the first victim of 
the scheme for vengeance born in his disordered 
brain. 

Bison City saw the first great column of smoke 
rise in the air away off to the north that afternoon 
with little apprehension. When its volume 


FRONTIER JUSTICE 


81 


swelled and the whole northern sky became over¬ 
cast, there was full realization of the danger im¬ 
pending.. Bells were rung, fire arms discharged, 
and couriers rode furiously to warn distant settle¬ 
ments. A great crowd of volunteers turned out to 
help save the town. 

4 ‘Only one way to save ourselves,” said Banker 
Hull, to the excited crowd, * ‘ and that’s a backfire. 
Get everything ready, but don’t start it too soon. 
Give the fellows down the valley all the time pos¬ 
sible, but backfire we must. With this heavy wind 
blowing, it will be some task to handle a backfire, 
but it will be nothing compared to having that ava¬ 
lanche of fire sweep down on us unprotected.” 

The sky soon became overcast with a yellow haze 
that rapidly changed to deep lead color. Chat¬ 
tering birds soared high, in confused circles, then 
swung away to the south on steady wing. Fright¬ 
ened deer and antelope ran in droves through the 
outskirts of the town, timid no longer in the face 
of the great danger sweeping toward them from 
the north. Great bundles of burning grass were 
hurled high into the heavens by the awful suction 
of the roaring heat, landing well to the front of 
the wall of flame and hastening the spread of the 
conflagration. Armed with spades, shovels, old 
coats and pieces of carpet, the fire-fighters took 
their stand well to the north of the town. 

With practiced eye on the deluge of smoke and 
flame sweeping down upon them, Banker Hull 
finally gave the command to start the backfires. 
Torches were at once applied to the dry grass, 
two groups of workers gradually approaching 
each other, fighting the incipient blaze each had 
started, hoping to meet and thus close the gap 
directly north of the town. It was quick, danger¬ 
ous, exciting work. The plan was working well. 


82 


THE KANSAN 


The backfires were well under control, and were 
gradually coming together north of the town while 
spreading out into a roaring blaze on either side. 
But the great fire was approaching with more 
speed than the defenders had anticipated. Al¬ 
ready they felt the scorch of the awful heat. The 
head of flame was coming closer, yet the protective 
backfires had not yet joined. It was a matter 
of minutes now. The gap must be closed, the pro¬ 
tecting backfires must meet and be given time 
to burn a clearing before the roaring mass swept 
down on them. Men worked with desperation, 
realizing fully their danger. They were choking 
and blinded by the smoke. It was at this critical 
time that the workers witnessed a sight that 
caused a cheer to burst forth. Directly between 
the lines of workers, fairly outlined against the 
blaze of the oncoming fire, rode Jim Brandon. 

From his hand dangled a leather lariat which 
trailed behind. At the end of the lariat bounded 
a bundle of blazing hay. The pony was running at 
full speed, the lad clutching her mane with one 
hand and leaning well out w T ith the lariat in the 
other. Wherever the blazing bundle struck, little 
flames leaped up. Jim was closing the gap quick¬ 
ly, effectively. It was the work of only a moment. 
There was no time for further cheering. The gap 
had been closed. Their own fire was now upon 
them, puny by comparison with the great con¬ 
flagration, but a menace until the blaze on the 
side next the town was subdued. It was now but 
the work of seconds and the battle’s fate hung in 
the balance. Jim’s foresight had closed the gap. 
With shovel, spade and rag they fought the last 
faint flame and watched with joy the slow but 
steady backfire creeping backward, clearing a way 
over which the dreaded onrush could not pass. 


FRONTIER JUSTICE 


83 


Their work was accomplished none too soon. 
With a wild rush and roar the flood of fire rushed 
upon them, licked out its tongues of scorching 
flame across the burned area, then with a shriek 
of defiance, divided and passed on, leaving Bison 
City unscatehed. Curly Clawson’s revenge had 
failed. 



CHAPTER VIII 
The Blizzard 


The settlers managed somehow to survive that 
first terrible winter on the plains. How they ac¬ 
complished it, the sufferings they endured, the 
difficulties they overcame, none but the pioneer 
knows. But spring had come again, joyful spring, 
with its warmth and life and hope. Again the 
prairie was decked in a carpet of green, dotted 
with shy wild flowers. There was the smell of 
fresh earth in the air. There was the newness and 
vigor and courage that come from contact with 
mother earth. Bison City responded to the new 
order that began to take on new life. There were 
prospects that the railroad now building westward 
would reach the town during the summer. New 
jobbing houses were coming also. Hopes of mak¬ 
ing the town the 4 4 Metropolis of the Great South¬ 
west” were again revived. Jonathan Butler was 
busy with plans for making a vast fortune, but 
with due caution had moved the family back to 
the Willow Creek farm until such time as the 
fortune materialized. 

On this farm Jim Brandon toiled manfully all 
summer long, breaking the prairie sod, culti¬ 
vating the garden and taking care of the livestock. 
Butler, with his team of ponies hitched to a buck- 
board, covered the distance from farm to town 
every day, often making long drives through the 
new country. He bought livestock, traded horses, 
became owner of all sorts of property that could 
possibly be held by a slender equity therein, was 


THE BLIZZARD 


85 


a dealer in real estate, a notary public, a pro¬ 
moter, a borrower, a speculator, bis activities 
limited only by the amount of credit extended to 
him at Jason Hull’s bank. He was always cheer¬ 
ful and magnetic. When at times Jim became 
discouraged over crop prospects, Butler would 
say: 

‘ 1 Keep going, lad. Everything is coming out 
all right. We are going to be rich some day, sure. 
People have to experience a certain amount of 
hard luck before they can properly appreciate suc¬ 
cess. Keep trying. That’s what counts. People 
who refuse to try, never get anywhere.” 

One day when Butler was driving past the 
Smith homestead, Skinner Smith hailed him: 

i ‘Butler, I want to talk to you a minute about 
schools.” 

“Schools? What do I know about schools!” 
asked Butler. 

“ Well, this is a new country, I know. I’ve been 
thinking the matter over. It seems to me that we 
need some schools in this country. We can’t let 
our kids run wild. Man, I’m getting quite a bunch 
of ’em already,” and he pointed proudly to the 
group of taffy-haired youngsters peeping timidly 
from behind a corner of the Smith farm house. 

“I presume you are right, neighbor,” Jona¬ 
than Butler assented. “I had thought of sending 
my girl and Jim to school at Bison City this 
winter, but if it proves to be such a winter as the 
last one, it would be impossible. Yes, we really 
ought to have a school here in the Willow Creek 
neighborhood. ’ ’ 

“But how can we get a school, Jonathan? We 
are all busted, flat. We couldn’t raise enough 
money to pay the teacher, let alone build a school 
house.” 


86 


THE KANSAN 


“That’s easy,” said Jonathan Butler, quite 
cheerfully. “Vote bonds. That’s what every 
community is doing these days. Why shouldn’t 
we follow suit? Why should everything be paid 
for at once? We could not do so, even if we 
wanted to. I say, let the next generation help pay 
for some of these public improvements. We will 
vote school bonds and have a school in Willow 
Creek. ’ ’ 

“Will you attend to it, Jonathan?” 

“Certainly, certainly,” he replied, cheerfully. 
“Glad to do it. Willow Creek is our home, and 
nothing is too good for the home folks.” 

He made his word good promptly. He looked 
after the details so well that an election was held, 
the bonds voted and floated and the framework for 
the Willow Creek school building was erected be¬ 
fore the first snows of winter arrived. 

It was a forlorn-looking little school house with 
uncurtained windows that blinked wearily at the 
bleak prairie stretching away for miles. They 
had placed it on a little knoll where the breezes 
skurried around it playfully in the late autumn. 
There had been delays, and stern winter was well 
on its way when the Willow Creek school was 
finally opened. 

It was a wonderful event to the youngsters up 
and down the valley who flocked to the first dis¬ 
trict school in Willow Creek that opening day. 
They came from many miles around, rough, red¬ 
faced, healthy children, coarse-clad, but clean and 
wholesome. The first week of school brought 
many new sensations and experiences to these 
children. This was especially true in the case of 
Jim Brandon. Heretofore, Marion Butler had 
been to him merely a good chum, a sisterly com¬ 
panion in the Butler home. At school, he began 


THE BLIZZARD 


87 


to realize that she was a handsome girl, by far 
the most attractive girl in the school. The week 
of observation taught him that she was unques¬ 
tionably far above the average. Nor was this all. 
He observed that other boys recognized her su¬ 
periority also, and cast admiring glances in her 
direction. 

This was disconcerting and troubled him. The 
fact that Marion noted the homage that was paid 
her by the other lads added to his discomfort. At 
first he felt hurt at her actions. It somehow 
touched his pride. Secretly he felt an air of pro¬ 
prietorship in dainty Marion Butler, in which 
these other youths had no part. He became mo¬ 
rose and shy. This was an entirely new mood for 
the lad, and no one noticed it more quickly than 
Marion Butler. 

They were on their way to school one bright 
morning, trudging along side by side in silence. 
The girl was the first to speak. 

“ Jim, what ails you since you started to school? 
You don’t seem like the same boy.” 

“Why?” came the evasive retort. 

“Oh, I don’t know, only you don’t seem like 
yourself at all, and haven’t ever since school 
opened. ’ ’ 

Jim was always a lad of action. Here was his 
opportunity. She had asked him a leading ques¬ 
tion. Why not risk his all now and have it over? 
He swallowed hard, stepped squarely in front of 
Marion Butler, deliberately sat the dinner-bucket 
down on the frosty grass beside the path, squared 
himself with a jerk, then said: 

“You want to know. You’ve asked a fair ques¬ 
tion, and I’ll tell you. It’s about you, if you must 
know. ’ ’ 

“Me?” 


88 


THE KANSAN 


“Yes, you,” replied the youth. “We have been 
good friends always, but we are not brother and 
sister. You are my girl—my—best—girl,” he 
stammered. 

“Well, go on,” said the girl, demurely. 

He thought she had never before appeared quite 
so handsome as she was that morning, standing 
before him with glowing cheeks, sparkling eyes 
and ruby lips. It was hard for him to proceed. 

“Well, we ought to have some understanding 
about it,” he suggested, not quite sure of his 
ground. “Are you my girl, or not?” 

“Well, why?” replied the girl, rather enjoying 
the situation. 

“Because you are either my girl or else you are 
not. If you are not, tell me so now. If you are 
really my girl, all well and good, and I’ll punch 
the face of the next boy that makes eyes at you. 
I want to know now.” 

The girl laughed. 

“Jim, you’re funny.” Young as she was, she 
had guessed the secret. Jim was jealous. 

“Funny or not, I want to know now, before we 
go another step.” His face was grave. There 
was an involuntary twitching about the corners of 
his mouth, a sign of intense emotion. She cared 
too mch for him to torture him longer. 

“Don’t be cross, Jim.” 

“But I want to know,” stubbornly. 

“Well,” she replied, resignedly, “I like you 
very much, Jim. You are more to me than all the 
rest of the school put together.” 

The effect of this declaration was electrical. A 
radiant smile spread over the boy’s face, a smile 
of triumph. He squared his shoulders, then 
leaned forward. 


THE BLIZZARD 


89 


“Then let’s seal it with a kiss, a true lover’s 
kiss.” 

Their lips met, and the age-old story of a youth 
and a maid began anew as the pact was sealed. 
Jim picked up the dinner-bucket and the two 
marched gayly, hand in hand, down the path to 
Willow Creek school. 

This particular day was a memorable one for 
the Willow Creek school, for several reasons. One 
of these was the arrival of the new boy in the 
school. Long, angular, ragged, he had taken a 
seat with the other scholars when the bell rang. 
When asked his name by the teacher, he loudly 
announced: “George Washington Bean,” then 
rolled his eyes and even twitched his ears with a 
movement that caused a suppressed giggle 
throughout the school room. 

“Where is your home, George?” 

“Nowhere.” 

Again the eyes rolled nervously, shoulders 
humped, ears twitching. Again there was a sub¬ 
dued twitter among the pupils. 

The answer George Washington Bean gave was 
pitifully correct. He had wandered into the Wil¬ 
low Creek neighborhood from nobody knew where. 
He had gained a precarious livelihood by working 
for the farmers, usually for his board and clothes, 
neither of which came in generous quantities. 
Homeless, friendless, ragged, George Washington 
Bean had drifted into the Willow Creek school 
through no great longing for learning, but rather 
because there was no place else to go. He was 
emaciated, and his mouth, which stretched liter¬ 
ally from ear to ear, was cavernous in depth. His 
head was large and attached to his thin body by 
a slim, undulating neck. He was untidy, almost 


90 


THE KANSAN 


repulsive in appearance. The clean youngsters 
of the school eyed him furtively. 

At the noon hour he sought an interview with 
Jim Brandon. He somehow instinctively felt that 
here might be a friend. 

“Your name Jim Brandon?” was his first ques¬ 
tion. 

“ Yes,” 

“You’re the kid that made the night ride to 
Fort Harper the time of the Indian raid?” 

Jim nodded. 

“Gee, that must have been great.” His head 
wobbled appreciatively. He turned and spat be¬ 
tween his teeth, a rare youthful accomplishment. 

“Where were you at that time?” asked Jim. 

‘‘ Who ? Me ? Gee, I was hidin ’ down in the tall 
grass in the Elk Creek bottoms for more’n a week, 
plum scared stiff and starved hollow. You got a 
home, boy?” he asked, suddenly. 

“Yes. I make my home with Jonathan Butler.” 

“Gee, you’re lucky. Ever been awful hungry? 
Really awful?” 

“Yes.” 

“How hungry?” he persisted. 

Jim did not reply. 

“Ever been hungry enough to suck a raw egg? 
Ever carry a can and swipe milk from farmers’ 
cows ? ’ ’ 

Jim shook his head. 

‘‘ Ever live on prickly pears and prairie-chicken 
eggs ? Know how to build a fire with cow chips ? ’ ’ 
Again Jim replied in the negative. George Wash¬ 
ington Bean looked Jim over carefully. 

“Say, boy, you don’t know what hard luck 
is. You must have been raised a pet! Still, I like 
you better’n anybody I’ve seen in this school so 
far. If you need a friend, just call on. me. I 


THE BLIZZARD 


91 


was born a fightin’ and never got over it. When I 
like anybody I like ’em all over, and when I hate I 
hate ’em like the very old devil. ’ ’ 

Then he suddenly changed the subject. 

“Is that girl with the red ribbons Marion But¬ 
ler?” he asked. 

Jim blushed and nodded. 

“Your girl, eh? All right. Who’s that solid 
looking girl with her? The one with the cute 
ringlets?” 

“That’s her chum, Mollie Smith, sister of those 
freckle-faced Smith kids,” replied Jim, confiden¬ 
tially. 

“Looks good to me,” replied George Washing¬ 
ton Bean, his head wobbling back and forth sagely. 

They were just becoming well acquainted when 
the school bell called them inside. Young Mr. 
Bean had no books to study, and therefore found 
much idle time on his hands. He could not only 
wiggle his ears and roll his eyes, but the joints 
of his fingers seemed double, and could be made 
to kick in and out with startling evolutions. He 
threw a huge paper wad with remarkable dex¬ 
terity by aid of a borrowed ruler. He even con¬ 
trived to place a bent pin where one of the freckle¬ 
faced Smiths sat upon it, much to said Smith’s 
discomfort, likewise to the distraction of the lady 
teacher who had managed the school fairly well 
until now. The scholars, however, were quite en¬ 
thusiastic. School promised to be much less pro¬ 
saic in case George Washington Bean concluded 
to continue his search for knowledge in the Willow 
Creek district. 

In fact, teacher and pupils had become so en¬ 
grossed that they failed to notice that outside 
the wind was rising and that the school room 
was growing dark in mid-afternoon. Suddenly 


92 


THE KANSAN 


George Washington Bean arose dramatically, and 
pointed at the window fast frosting over. 

‘‘Listen at the wind. See the snow flying. It’s 
a regular old blizzard. ’ ’ 

“Mr. Bean, he seated and keep still or I shall 
be compelled to ask you to leave the school, ’ ’ said 
the teacher. The irrepressible G. Wash. Bean 
subsided for the moment. 

But he had told the truth about the weather. 
All soon realized that fact. It was soon so dark 
inside the school building that the children could 
not pursue their studies. The chill of the storm 
began to creep in through the thin walls. One look 
outside was enough. Huge blasts of wind were 
whirling down from the frozen regions of the 
north. It was one of those sudden changes so 
common on the plains. The rush of clouds totally 
obscured the sun. The cold was becoming more 
and more intense. The wind fairly howled a gale. 
Particles of ice went skimming along with the 
snow, which was not falling gently but being 
driven here and there in great shifting eddies 
across the prairie. 

To add to the terror of the situation, the coal 
supply was exhausted. The first meagre supply 
had not been replenished and the box was empty, 
had been thus for a day or two with no complaint, 
as the weather had been fine and no fire needed. 

Panic seized the teacher. She dismissed the 
school and suggested that all should hurry home 
as best they could, as the building was fast be¬ 
coming freezing cold. To this proposal Jim Bran¬ 
don offered strenuous opposition. He stationed 
himself at the school-house door and resolutely 
held the knob. 

“Nobody shall leave. It would be sure death to 
venture out across the prairie now. We would all 


THE BLIZZAED 


93 


be lost. It’s cold here, but it’s a thousand times 
worse outside. We must not go now,” he com¬ 
manded. 

Girls were crying, the boys white-faced and 
scared, the teacher hysterical. 

i ‘ What shall we do, then!” wailed the teacher, 
wringing her hands helplessly. “We will be 
frozen to death here before help comes.” 

“Better here than outside,” Jim insisted. 
“Break up the coal-box and start a fire. Use the 
recitation seat also, if necessary. We must have 
a fire.” 

Some of the pupils started to obey. Jim grab¬ 
bed a picket rope from a nail in the corner and 
called for volunteers. 

“Boys, bundle up the best you can, and come 
on. There are cornstalks in the Haynes’ field. It 
is not far away. They are not much for fuel, but 
they will help. Let’s go for a load now. Who’ll 
help ? ’ ’ 

“Me for one. I’m a regular horse at that line 
of work,” said George Washington Bean. 

Many of the stouter lads joined him, and out 
they raced into the blinding storm. It was worse 
than they had even suspected. The particles of 
ice and snow cut the skin. They reached the field 
quickly and worked with numbed fingers and 
frosted breath. The stalks were frozen so that 
they snapped like glass. Soon the pile collected 
grew to immense size, the rope was tightened 
around the stalks and the half-frozen boys 
grasped the ends of the rope and started drag¬ 
ging the huge pile toward the school building, 
barely visible through the blinding snow. They 
reached the building and willing hands carried in 
the thin stalks, broke them up and fed them into 
the relentless maw of the stove, in great bundles. 


94 


THE KANSAN 


The heat generated was inadequate but comfort¬ 
ing to the frightened children. The huge pile of 
cornstalks vanished so rapidly that it was nearly 
gone before the courageous lads had driven the 
blizzard’s chill from their slender bodies. Out¬ 
side the storm raged furiously. It was growing 
dark. 

“ Light the lamps,” said Jim. “ They ’ll make 
some warmth and may guide us back when we 
go out this time. Boys, it’s awful, but we’ve 
got to go again. It’s much darker this time. 
Hang onto the rope. Don’t let go or you are 
goners. Let’s keep close together.” 

Again they went out into the teeth of the storm. 
This time they were gone longer and returned 
with less fuel. The situation was growing desper¬ 
ate. The second bunch of cornstalks was about 
gone. Jim thought of burning the school seats 
next. After that he felt that he was at the end of 
his resources. The last of the fuel was being fed 
into the stove, when the rumble of a farm wagon 
was heard. A husky voice outside sounded 
cheerily above the roar of the storm. Soon Skin¬ 
ner Smith, enveloped in a great coat, made of 
buffalo hides, came stamping in at the door. He 
was covered with frost and snow, a veritable 
Santa Claus. 

“All here, safe and sound, I hope? Surely no¬ 
body was foolish enough to venture the journey 
home in such a storm. Whew!” he roared, “why 
don’t you stir up the fire? It’s cold as a barn 
in here!” He glanced around at the pinched, 
frosty faces of the children. 

“There’s no coal, sir,” cried a pupil, “and the 
last of the cornstalks the boys brought have been 
burned. ’ ’ 

“Good Lord, is that the situation?” stormed 


THE BLIZZAED 


95 


Smith. “Well, there’s coal out there in my 
wagon. Boys, get it out. I just came from town 
and didn’t stop to unload that jag of coal at home, 
but hurried on here to get the kids. Bring in 
plenty of coal, boys. Let’s get good and warm be¬ 
fore we start for home.” 

Willing hands brought in the coal. Outside 
the storm still raged, and Smith’s ponies crowded 
close in the lee of the school house and shivered 
under their blankets. 

“Build up a tire. Let’s have a roarer! I tell 
you, whoever thought to light those lamps did a 
wise thing. I know this country pretty well, but I 
declare I might have missed the school house al¬ 
together if it hadn’t been for those lights. I was 
away off my hearings when I sighted them. This 
is one of the worst blizzards I ever saw on the 
plains, and I have been in many a one.” 

“Cold enough to freeze the whiskers on a brass 
monkey,” asserted George Washington Bean, 
solemnly, as he rubbed his grimy hands before the 
roaring coal fire. “Gee, this is solid comfort; if 
we only had something to eat!” 

As night came on, the storm abated slightly, 
but the cold was more intense. Other wagons be¬ 
gan to arrive. Anxious parents brought plenty 
of warm clothing, and the youngsters were 
bundled up in the hay, and the start for home 
was made. The cold bit with keen grip, the 
wagons bumped merrily over the frozen ground 
and crunched through snowdrifts. All were safe 
now. By his own invitation, George Washington 
Bean rode home with Jonathan Butler, Marion 
and Jim. 

“I’ve got no other place to go, boy, and this 
is no night for camping out. Tell the boss I’ll 
sure try to earn my feed, at least until this spell 


96 


THE KANSAN 


of weather lets up and I can travel again. Don’t 
worry about me, none. I won’t make a bit of 
trouble. I’ll sleep in the barn. I’m used to it, and 
had just as lief as not,” he assured Jim Brandon. 

Jim succeeded in arranging matters so that his 
new friend did not spend his first night in the barn 
at Butler’s homestead. The lads slept side by side 
under plenty of warm covers, in the loft above 
the living rooms at the Butler home. Although the 
wind drifted the fine snow through the cracks in 
the thin weatherboards until the bedclothes were 
covered with a soft mantle of white, they were 
snug and warm. In his dreams that bunk in the 
loft appeared to the homeless George Washington 
Bean as nothing short of a bridal chamber in the 
palace of a king. 


CHAPTER IX 


The Exodus 

Spring bad come again. The rigor of winter 
on the bleak plains was but a bitter memory. Set¬ 
tlers were becoming discouraged under continued 
reverses. Faith in the possibilities of the new 
country was growing weaker. In the minds of the 
settlers the thought was gradually forming that 
after all they might not be invincible, that in the 
end the desert they sought to subdue might win. 
Thousands of poorly-nourished cattle had per¬ 
ished on the range during the blizzards. Skinner 
Smith, alone, profited by this misfortune. He 
braved the winter’s blasts and drove from range 
to range for the pelts of the dead animals after 
every storm. Jason Hull had extended credit to 
the homesteaders until his bank was on the verge 
of disaster. He could do no more. Merchants 
had sold supplies on credit from their limited 
stocks until they reached the stage where no 
funds were at hand with which to buy more goods. 
The whole country was nervous, on the verge of 
collapse. 

The farmers, more from force of habit than 
from hope of reward, again plowed and planted 
the small areas they had brought under cultiva¬ 
tion. As the crops grew hope once more sprang 
up in discouraged hearts. Then came the burning 
drought, day after day when clouds banked high 
but no rain came; days of hot winds, stifling dust, 
withering cornfields and gardens. The resolute 
pumpkin vines wilted during the day, yet re- 


98 


THE KANSAN 


freshed by the coolness of the night, revived and 
put forth blossoms. Even the sturdy sunflowers 
by the roadside surrendered and stood disconso¬ 
late, with golden heads drooping. Only along the 
lowlands in the creek bottoms was there green 
vegetation when the great scourge came, the ca¬ 
lamity that proved too much for many a stout 
heart. 

It was a mid-summer afternoon. As usual the 
day was hot. Away to the southwest were banks 
of clouds, low on the horizon. These clouds were 
approaching rapidly, close to the earth, rolling in 
great dense billows. Settlers were amazed at the 
spectacle. No rain clouds had ever before ap¬ 
proached in such manner. Some argued that a 
prairie fire was under way. This idea was soon 
disproved because the clouds were rapidly ap¬ 
proaching against a mild breeze. 

They had not long to wait. Soon they knew that 
the clouds were formed of a hungry horde of 
grasshoppers. As far as the eye could see, the 
great swarms were coming, rolling, tumbling in 
great banks, but moving steadily, relentlessly for¬ 
ward. By sheer force of numbers they darkened 
the sun as clouds before a rain. They remained 
but a few brief hours, then moved on, leaving in 
their path destruction such as pioneers had never 
encountered before. Up and down the valley, and 
far and wide on every hand, not a living stalk 
of vegetation was left. Nothing green in sight. 
Every growing crop was consumed by the rav¬ 
enous horde. The sight was pitiful, the situation 
desperate. Little food was available now for man 
or beast. The situation had been bad enough 
before. Now life on the homesteads was all but 
impossible, even for the most resolute. Discon¬ 
solate settlers, hollow-eyed, sat in the doorways 


THE EXODUS 


99 


of their prairie homes and gazed in dumb amaze¬ 
ment at the havoc wrought. For them this was 
the end, blasted hopes, unrequitted toil. Stout in¬ 
deed the heart that dared brave another winter 
in this inhospitable land. 

And so began the exodus. Again the white- 
covered wagons dotted the prairie, this time 
headed back to the old homes in the East. There 
was nothing to stay for now. Therefore those 
who could get away, left promptly. 

Jason Hull sat in his office in Bison City and 
watched the steady stream of settlers’ wagons 
rolling through the town, with feelings of keen re¬ 
gret. Most of the travelers owed him money. He 
knew full well their inability to pay, and it was 
with regret that he saw them depart. His hopes 
were blighted as well as theirs. His personal 
fortune was all gone. It would require a strug¬ 
gle to meet his obligations now, but he was a man 
of parts. He realized that it would be sheer folly 
for him to even think of going too. He must stay 
and fight to the finish. It was while facing this 
gloomy outlook that he watched Jonathan Butler 
drive into town and jump briskly from the buck- 
board, tying the ponies to the hitchrack. Then 
he saw him head straight for the bank. 

“Morning, Jason,” was his cheery greeting. 
“ Yes, I got your notice all right. I have no reason 
to question the accuracy of your accounting sys¬ 
tem, Jason. I haven’t the least doubt but what 
I owe you every penny you claim. ’ ’ 

He seated himself in an armchair, lighted a 
cigar and leaned back comfortably as he con¬ 
tinued : 

“The only trouble seems to be that I can’t raise 
the money right now to pay you.” This with 
arched brows and smiling eyes. 


) 


100 


THE KANSAN 


“Butler, things have got to come to a show¬ 
down,” said the banker. “Your account is 
heavily overdrawn. We are forced to turn 
down your checks. More than that, we will 
be under the painful necessity of foreclosing our 
mortgages on your property at once. I hate to 
do this, but necessity compels it. When are you 
planning to leave the country ?” 

Jonathan Butler leaned back in his chair and 
puffed his cigar reflectively. 

“I am not going—for two reasons. First, I 
don’t want to go. Second, I haven’t any place 
to go, even if I did want to leave. If we are 
destined to starve, it had just as well be out here 
where we have fought a good fight, as it would be 
back among the wife’s relations. Jason Hull, I 
am game! I am still full of fight. In spite of all 
that’s happened to us, I have faith in this country. 
Go ahead and close me out if you feel that’s the 
only way. The stuff I’ve got on hand wouldn’t 
make a start toward paying what I owe you, for 
there are no buyers these days. Now my idea 
of the country is this—.” And Jonathan Butler 
launched out on his plans for the future. 

An hour later as Jonathan Butler was leaving 
the bank, Jason Hull called in his confidential 
clerk. 

“See Jonathan Butler going there?” he said. 
There was a dazed look in the banker ’s eyes. 

“Yes, sir,” answered the clerk, respectfully. 

“Well, what do you think has happened?” 

“I haven’t the least idea, sir,” replied the puz¬ 
zled clerk. 

“Then listen. Listen to me.” Banker Hull 
pounded the desk in front of him and his face grew 
florid. “That man is a wonder. I sent for him 
to tell him I expected to close him out. It was the 


THE EXODUS 


101 


only sane thing to do. He owes me more now than 
he will ever be able to repay. I had firmly re¬ 
solved to foreclose on him.” Hull paused for 
breath. 

“Did he manage to pay, somehow?” timidly 

nclrprl flip pIptIt 

“Pay!” said Banker Hull, blankly. “Pay? 
Just listen to me. Before he was with me half an 
hour I not only granted him an extension of his 
loans, but actually loaned him an additional hun¬ 
dred dollars, scarce as money is! I claim a man 
who can do that sort of thing with me is high 
grade. I feel like kicking myself all around the 
room. He has a hypnotic way with him that is 
hard to resist. He is so plausible and convincing 
that he is actually a dangerous fellow. The next 
time he comes into this bank, you put the time 
lock on the vault if we have any funds left by 
then.’’ 

Affairs continued to go from bad to worse for 
the settlers, and the string of prairie schooners 
headed for the East, lengthened day by day. 

Out at the Butler farm, James Brandon and his 
friend George Washington Bean worked hard to 
sustain the family, while Butler kept up a bold 
front in town, gradually drifting toward shadier 
deals as the pressure of circumstances tightened. 

To Jim Brandon, always of a serious turn of 
mind, the lurid language of George Washington 
Bean was a tonic, a constant delight. 

“Where did you pick up all those queer say¬ 
ings ?” asked Jim one evening as the boys were 
preparing to go to bed in the loft above the living 
rooms. 

“I don’t know as I talk differently than other 
folks. Do I? Well, if that’s so, it must be be¬ 
cause I have knocked around all my life and just 


102 


THE KANSAN 


kept my ears open. Say, Jim, remember that first 
night I spent here? That night of the blizzard 
when we came from school? Gee, this place looked 
like a palace to me. Honest, I was as nervous as 
a cat in a strange garret that night.’ 7 

Jim remembered it well. It had been the begin¬ 
ning of a friendship that seemed destined to en¬ 
dure. 

“It was great of Butler to take me in, and I’ll 
never forget it. That man has a heart like a 
watermelon. He is not at all like some people I 
have met in my travels . 9 9 He grinned reflectively, 
his head swaying around on his rubber neck, his 
eyes rolling, as usual. 

“I hired out to a farmer once,” he continued, 
11 and he called me at three o ’clock in the morning. 
I got up and come downstairs with all my worldly 
belongings tied up in a bandana handkerchief. 
The man wanted to know if I was going to work 
with that bundle of clothes in my hand, and I 
told him that I was not going to work, but was 
just starting out to look for a place to stay all 
night ! 99 Bean’s mouth expanded into a cavernous 
grin at the recollection. 

“Mr. Butler isn’t that kind of a man,” said 
Jim, “and it’s a good thing for us that he is not.” 

“No. Butler, if anything, is too easy. That 
man will make a big splash some day. He will 
either soar high or fall flat. It’s in him. He is a 
regular he-man, all right. I like him, and would 
do anything for him.” 

“So would I,” assented Jim. “He needs help 
now, if he ever did. Can we be of real help to 
him, do you think?” 

“Sure as sunset. It’s as easy as hunting mud 
after a shower. Boy, there’s harder times ahead 
than we’ve ever had before. We must get out 


THE EXODUS 


103 


and hustle harder. This family has fed ns for 
some time. Of course we have worked to earn our 
keep, hut it was worth a lot to us, just to have the 
chance. There is still plenty of game in the coun¬ 
try. We will hunt and fish and trap. We can 
keep ’em in meat. If it comes to a showdown, I 
know how to rustle cow chips for fuel, so we won’t 
freeze. Skinner Smith hasn’t gathered up all the 
buffalo bones in western Kansas. They say the 
bones are worth four dollars a load in town. They 
are being shipped out for fertilizer. Maybe it 
will take us a week to gather a load and market it, 
but when we do it we will have the money. We 
can gather a good many bones before snow flies.” 

“We will do it, then,” said Jim, with decision. 
i ‘ They say there is money to be made back where 
the settlers are going. I’d thought maybe one or 
both of us might go back East and earn some 
money, but I hated the thought of leaving the folks 
here. It looked too much like deserting them when 
they needed us most.” 

‘ ‘That’s dead right, boy. That’s just the way I 
feel. I’ve been treated white here for the first 
time in my life. You couldn’t move me from here 
any more than you could swing a barn lot around 
by the gate. We will stick, boy, that’s what we 
will do. It’s going to be pretty tough, I can see 
that, but it doesn’t worry me none. I’m used to 
it.” 

The pact the lads made that night, they kept. 
Although the first backward movement of settlers 
was bad enough, the retreat soon became a rout. 
Abandoned homesteads were soon in the majority. 
Throughout autumn and the late Indian summer 
on into the winter, the exodus continued without 
abatement. Even Skinner Smith had given up 
and gone East to solicit aid for the grasshopper 


104 


THE KANSAN 


sufferers, and rumor had it that his labors were 
so successful that he continued to solicit long after 
prosperity returned to Kansas. 

Others besides Smith assisted in soliciting aid. 
In time big boxes of “aid goods’’ arrived and 
were distributed among the needy settlers. Many 
of them, of later day respectability, drove frantic¬ 
ally to town during these days, whenever word 
was received that new donations had arrived. 
They grabbed greedily at the charitable offerings, 
even slyly pilfering from bundles of more fortun¬ 
ate neighbors in a mad scramble for a share of the 
spoils. When cold and hunger stalk forth in the 
land the inhabitants soon drift back to the prim¬ 
itive habits. 

Yet through all the privations and discourage¬ 
ments Jim Brandon and his partner toiled cheer¬ 
fully, manfully. Their hearts were young and 
their courage unshaken. For Jim, there was the 
further incentive of Marion Butler’s appreciation. 
Once, in particular, when he returned from a hunt¬ 
ing trip tired and heavy laden with wild game 
for the family larder, she met him with a loyal 
pat on the back and a soft kiss on his tanned 
cheek, as she cried: 

“Jim, you may be small, but you’re wonderful. 
You ’re every inch a man! ’ ’ 

Jim was elated. She appreciated him. She had 
not forgotten the school days. She was still his 
< < gi r } ? ’ ’ anc i proud of him. His heart swelled and 
his soul was glad. She had acknowledged him as 
her knight, this time publicly, for the kiss was be¬ 
stowed in the presence of her mother and the as¬ 
tute George Washington Bean. Even the latter 
was quite impressed by the scene, and thus com¬ 
muned with himself: 

“I never was much of a lady-fusser, but I 


THE EXODUS 


105 


wouldn’t mind having some of ’em try a stunt like 
that on me, just to see how it feels!” 

His head wobbled, his ears twitched and his 
cavern of a mouth expanded into a broad grin 
of anticipation. 


PART TWO 

THE BOOMERS 


CHAPTER X 


The Bison Bubble 

Bison City, once the struggling frontier trading 
post, was now, after the lapse of years, expanded 
into a pretentious town, pulsing with new life, 
feverish with the influx of industry and swollen 
out of proportion by pressure of an unprecedented 
boom. Few realized at the time just how much of 
the hectic flush was due to the boom, yet the 
fever was there beyond question, clouding the 
vision of even the most sedate with its promise of 
sudden wealth and of possibilities that were ap¬ 
parently unlimited. 

As the boom progressed the town sprawled out 
over the prairie. The sound of saw and hammer 
echoed through the newly-graded streets all day 
long. Fortunes were being made over night. 
Values were pyramided with no indications of 
disaster, but rather proving an incentive for 
further advances. 

The railroad had at last arrived and halted at 
Bison City, and the town thus became the dis¬ 
tributing center for all the great Southwest. The 
great herds of cattle were now stopped at Bison 
City and were loaded and shipped to market. 
With the cattle came the reckless cowpunchers, 
eager for the few days of hectic life before turn¬ 
ing back to the monotony of the range. The 
Indian and the buffalo had long since vanished 
from the scene, but the cowboy, the prospector, 
the gambler and the steady but restless stream 

of adventurers flowing in and out of the town at 

109 


110 THE KANSAN 

this time added much to the already feverish 
activity. 

Besolute farmers had at last conquered the 
desert and were wresting golden grain from the 
stubborn soil that in earlier days had proved so 
miserly with the pioneers. Apparently ashamed 
of her previous penury, mother earth now lavishly 
piled her bounties in the laps of the husbandmen. 
Along public highways great lines of farmers 7 
wagons now wended their way into the town, 
loaded with the proceeds of ample harvest. So 
great was their number that they were compelled 
to await their turn to dump their cargo into the 
grain elevators that sprang up beside the magic 
railroad. Money was plentiful. No one knew 
the limitations of this vast, new empire now being 
developed, and none seemed to care. 

Men gambled in real estate, gambled in grain, 
gambled in politics, even gambled with their 
honor, those feverish days. In many instances the 
stakes were higher than even those at the faro 
tables at Steve Osborn’s famous gambling rooms, 
and it was rumored that the stakes there were the 
talk of the West. 

Time had not only brought its changes to the 
town of Bison City, but to the pioneers as well. 
Banker Jason Hull had at last realized his dreams, 
and was now in Congress, yet still retaining his 
interests in the Hull bank which had weathered 
the financial storms of pioneer days. 

Jonathan Butler, smooth, oily, smiling as of 
old, was now on the crest of the wave of pros¬ 
perity. His vision of Bison City’s greatness was 
being realized, and fortune smiled upon him. The 
early misfortunes had downed him completely, 
and he had gone through bankruptcy proceedings, 
but had arisen from the wreck undaunted, pos- 



THE BISON BUBBLE 


111 


sibly with a lowered sense of honesty and in¬ 
tegrity, but none the less determined to succeed. 
His financial collapse had led to a break with his 
old colleague, the Honorable Jason Hull. There¬ 
fore, when the rival financial institution, the 
Western Trust Company, was formed, it was but 
natural that Jonathan Butler became its leading 
promoter, champion and director. In the rear 
of the impressive edifice which housed the new 
financial institution, Jonathan Butler had his real 
estate and loan office. As the boom progressed he 
became well groomed, affluent, powerful. 

Steve Osborn, always with the brand of the 
underworld upon him, sly, unscrupulous and mer¬ 
cenary, was now owner of the town’s largest sa¬ 
loon, dance hall and gambling den, tolerated be¬ 
cause of the easy morals of the frontier and the 
hectic desire of the shifting population for amuse¬ 
ment. It was even rumored that Steve Osborn 
had made a bid for respectability by forming a 
connection with the Western Trust Company, and 
that it was through his influence that Sam Sparks, 
local politician and at one time county commis¬ 
sioner, had been elevated to the presidency of the 
corporation that was now a rival of Jason Hull’s 
old, reliable banking institution. This was, of 
course, but a rumor. Everything was prosperous, 
and in the easy manner of prosperous frontier 
days, nobody investigated. Evidently no one 
cared so long as affairs moved smoothly. All 
knew that Osborn’s greatest sources of revenue 
were located in his doubtful enterprises farther 
down the street. He was becoming wealthy with 
the rest and his possible interests in banking and 
his backing of slippery Sam Sparks, attracted lit¬ 
tle attention. 

Jim Brandon, after a few years of schooling 


112 


THE KANSAN 


and a short apprenticeship in an Eastern news¬ 
paper office, was now editor of the town’s leading 
periodical, the Bison City Bugle. He was backed 
in this enterprise by Jason Hull, who felt the need 
of an aggressive, forceful newspaper to champion 
his political aspirations in his home town. In his 
short career as editor, Jim had proved capable, 
fearless and outspoken, a leader of public thought, 
not only along political lines, but in civic and 
economic affairs as well. The Bugle was ap¬ 
plauded by the solid citizens of the community, 
cordially hated by the underworld, but read by 
all classes, exercising a power that Brandon, in his 
youth and inexperience, no doubt failed to realize 
to its full extent. 

And time had done much for another of our 
friends, the irrepressible George Washington 
Bean, who now with suit of plaid, green socks and 
shiny patent-leather shoes, cravat of vivid red 
on which glistened a phony diamond, stood behind 
the register as night clerk at the Commercial Ho¬ 
tel, the town’s new hostelry. His cavernous smile 
and wobbly head with its shock of straw-colored 
hair, were still much in evidence. His good nature 
and ready wit attracted friends, and his hearty, 
boistrous laugh was like a tonic to many a weary, 
travel-stained guest. He had passed through the 
rough school of poverty in his youth and now that 
prosperity was shining upon all, he accepted what 
came with open thankfulness and rejoicing, with 
but one burning ambition in life—to dress in the 
extreme of fashion, and but one anchor that held 
—his love for is boyhood friend and companion, 
Jim Brandon. 

There was a decided stir in Bison City when 
the report was circulated that Jason Hull had re¬ 
turned from Washington. He was still the town’s 



THE BISON BUBBLE 


113 


big man, but there were rumblings of political un¬ 
rest that finally reached him at the seat of govern¬ 
ment, and he had returned for a little conference 
with the district leaders and to arrange diplo¬ 
matically any adjustment the situation demanded. 
Seated in the little editorial room in the Bugle 
office, the Congressman and Jim Brandon were 
quietly talking of the situation, before the con¬ 
ference of the politicians to be held in one of the 
private rooms of the Commercial hotel. 

“Well, how’s everything, Jim?” questioned the 
Honorable Jason Hull, lighting a cigar and lean¬ 
ing back comfortably. He was glad to be back 
home. 

‘ ‘ Politically, I think everything is in fine shape, 
sir,” Jim replied. “There are the usual knockers 
out over the district, but they haven’t been able 
to center on any plan of action so far as I can 
learn. They don’t seem to get together on any¬ 
thing. You are still strong with the people, and 
the leaders in the main are with you. ’ ’ 

“What’s wrong then? In your opinion, what’s 
the trouble, if any?” Congressman Hull evi¬ 
dently had great confidence in the judgment of his 
young newspaper friend. 

“It seems to me that the trouble is financial, 
not political,” said Jim Brandon. “This town 
is not the Bison City of the early days. You know 
all about this boom that’s on. People are crazy, 
simply crazy. Then there’s this new Trust Com¬ 
pany. In my opinion it isn’t a square concern. 
I have positive knowledge that Steve Osborn is in 
on the ground floor with this company. That 
alone would queer it with me. Steve, as you well 
know, is a crook. He has never been anything 
else, but prosperity has made him a powerful, 


114 


THE KANSAN 


semi-respectable crook. In that light he is far 
more dangerous than as a common outlaw.” 

“That’s true,” assented the Congressman, 
tersely. “Go ahead. I’m interested.” 

“Well, the boom is assuming proportions all 
out of reason, as I said. There’s bound to come a 
crash. When it comes, the Western Trust Com¬ 
pany is due to blow up promptly. It is backing 
every wild scheme that these crazy disreputables 
desire to float. When the break comes I am afraid 
the shock will not be confined to the Western 
Trust Company alone.” 

“I’ve thought of all that, Jim,” said the Con¬ 
gressman. “This Trust Company has already 
touched up my bank more than I would care to 
state. But I’ll be prepared for the crash if it 
comes. My bank pulled through the grasshopper 
year and the exodus, and I rather think it can 
weather most any gale now.” 

“I hope so, but I wanted to warn you in time. 
A wrecked Trust Company will mean a run on 
your bank, too. It will be a great crash if it comes. 
I feel sure of that. Think of the number of 
people who are becoming tied up with this new 
concern. They will lose everything. Take the 
case of Jonathan Butler, for instance.” 

“What about Butler? I hear he is now rich. 
Since he defrauded me by his bankruptcy deal, 
he avoids me. I could forgive him for what he did 
to me, bad as it was, but I can’t see why he should 
turn me a cold shoulder afterward. I haven’t in¬ 
jured him. It has all been the other way.” 

“I’m worried greatly about Mr. Butler,” said 
Jim. “He has always been a good friend to me. 
He tries his best to be friendly now, but I can’t 
stand for his present methods. He is a leader 
in this new Trust Company. He helped put Sam 


THE BISON BUBBLE 


115 


Sparks across as its president. Mr. Hull, he 
knows of Steve Osborn’s connection with the com¬ 
pany. He knows Steve as well as we do, and yet 
he stands for him. It is said that Steve gives him 
a rake-off on the profits of his dance hall and 
gambling den as a price for his friendship. He 
is making money now, and is plunging in the wild¬ 
est kind of boom deals. But Osborn is crafty. He 
will have Mr. Butler so tied up that if a break 
comes, Mr. Butler will be holding the sack. I have 
talked with him, even pleaded with him, but it is 
no use. He is plausible, a natural optimist, and 
success has completely turned his head.” 

“It’s too bad,” said Jason Hull, kindly. 
44 There was the making of a great man in Jona¬ 
than Butler, if he had only kept the straight 
path. ’ ’ 

“It makes things quite hard for me,” said Jim. 
“I’ve had to go after Steve Osborn’s dives pretty 
roughly through the Bugle. There are stories of 
robbery and even murder down there. His busi¬ 
ness is a disgrace to Bison City, and should be 
closed out completely. But in my attacks I have 
encountered the bitter opposition of Mr. Butler, 
proof positive to me that there is truth in the 
rumor that he has some interest there. He is not 
the Jonathan Butler of old, that’s sure. I can’t 
give up the fight. That’s why it is so hard for 
me; but that is not all. ’ ’ 

“No?” 

44 There’s Marion. ’ ’ 

44 Yes, there’s Marion. I think I understand. 
Still, I guess you really have nothing serious to 
trouble you in that direction,” said the Congress¬ 
man, knowingly. 44 Jim, I think we had better go 
to the meeting. Maybe a change to politics would 
be a diversion. Let’s go.” 


116 


THE KANSAN 


They arose and walked arm in arm down the 
street to the new Commercial Hotel. 

In the crowded room upstairs, where the con¬ 
ference was to be held, where many new faces, 
district leaders of prominence called for a con¬ 
sultation. But all the old guard were on hand 
likewise, careful that no move should be made in 
which they did not have a part. The meeting was 
to be entirely informal. Sam Sparks, chairman of 
the district committee, presided. When Congress¬ 
man Hull and Jim Brandon arrived there was a 
hush in the hum of conversation. The big man 
had arrived. Their representative direct from the 
halls of Congress was with them again. Intro¬ 
duced in a few well-chosen words by Chairman 
Sparks, Jason Hull arose and smilingly greeted 
his constituents. 

Jason Hull was a strong character. He knew 
men. He fully realized his power at this moment, 
yet was tactful, cautious, considerate. Briefly he 
spoke of his work in Washington for his constitu¬ 
ents, outlined his future plans, discussed frankly 
the political situation in the district and, in con¬ 
clusion, asked for reports and suggestions from 
his followers. 

At the conclusion, Sam Sparks was on his feet 
instantly, cool, crafty, smiling, yet plainly labor¬ 
ing under suppressed emotion. 

“Gentlemen, you have heard your Congress¬ 
man, and I know you are proud of the record he 
has made. In Bison City and over the entire dis¬ 
trict we may have our individual differences but, 
when it comes to a choice for Congressman, we 
stand as a unit for the Honorable Jason Hull, 
knowing that we have chosen well. Our personal 
interests are submerged for the common welfare. 
I, myself, am now with a rival financial company, 


THE BISON BUBBLE 


117 


and therefore in a business way am opposed to 
the banking institution of our honored townsman, 
yet in times past I have assisted with the manage¬ 
ment of his political campaigns, and felt free, 
as I do even now, to rejoice with you in the success 
he has attained. If there are rumors of political 
dissension they are of little moment.’’ He cast 
his shifty eyes over the crowd. “If there are any 
protests, if there is any discord, which I much 
doubt, now is the time to make it known.” 

There was momentary silence when he finished, 
then one after another, the leaders from over the 
district gave favorable reports and pledged their 
loyalty to their leader. As the meeting progressed 
Sam Sparks lost much of his feeling of uneasi¬ 
ness and beamed broadly upon the crowd. 

Seated in an obscure corner, Steve Osborn and 
Jonathan Butler held an occasional whispered 
conversation. Their actions had been noticed not 
only by the chairman but by the watchful Con¬ 
gressman as well. The meeting was drawing to a 
close. It had been highly successful. Nearly 
every one present had spoken. There was a quiet 
moment. Then Steve Osborn, in a subdued sneer, 
habitual with him, remarked: 

“The love feast seems to be about over.” 

“What’s that, Steve!” asked Jason Hull, quite 
promptly. Sam Sparks at once showed signs of 
nervousness. 

“Oh, nothing in particular,” Steve replied. 

“If you have anything to say, Steve, don’t hesi¬ 
tate. Out with it,” urged Jason Hull. 

“If I had anything to say, I guess I could say it 
all right,” rejoined Steve, with a sinister look. 
“I’m not in politics to any great extent. I aim 
to attend to my own business, and am satisfied if 


118 


THE KANSAN 


other people attend to theirs. I guess you have all 
the help you need, anyway. ’’ 

At this the Congressman’s chin shot out rather 
aggressively and the reply came crisp and keen: 

‘‘I think if your memory is good, Steve, that 
you will recall a conversation I had with you along 
this line some years ago, in which I told you exact¬ 
ly what I thought of a certain sort of political 
help. That was long before I was elected to Con¬ 
gress. I think I made my meaning plain to you 
then. Well, I haven’t changed my mind on that 
point since. I can repeat my exact words if you 
think it necessary. ’ ’ 

Steve Osborn did not reply. There was an em¬ 
barrassing moment. Then Jonathan Butler arose. 
All now sensed trouble. Immaculately clad, clear 
of eye, dominating, Butler stood for a moment, en¬ 
joying the sensation. Sam Sparks squirmed vis¬ 
ibly in his seat. 

“Gentlemen,” commenced Jonathan Butler, in 
a soft, melodious voice, “we are all practically of 
one mind as regards the leadership of our fellow- 
townsman, Honorable Jason Hull. Personal dif¬ 
ferences we may all have had, but they are of 
minor importance compared with the welfare of 
the people of this district. Therefore, do not 
interpret anything I may say as a personal affront 
to our leader or to the affairs of our political 
party. I desire to speak frankly as friend to 
friend, and solely from the standpoint of public 
welfare, and especially the welfare of the people 
of Bison City. We are now enjoying an era of 
unprecedented prosperity. There is no room for 
petty jealousies or discord of any nature. We are 
big enough to stand together. What this com¬ 
munity needs is harmony, not carping criticism 
and back-biting. Not censorship, but comradeship, 



THE BISON BUBBLE 


119 


a spirit of friendly co-operation, not pnritanism. 
There is room here for all kinds of people in our 
thriving city. There is business enough for all 
those who will attend strictly to their own affairs 
and do not attempt any ‘ holier than thou’ tactics. 
In this attitude I think we have the support of our 
Congressman, and therefore assert that he should 
not be held personally responsible for all the acts 
of his indiscreet friends.’’ 

Jim Brandon turned pale with anger and 
started to arise, but Jason Hull placed a restrain¬ 
ing hand upon him and arose promptly. 

“I think that will do, Butler,” he said, rather 
sharply. “I think you have said enough to make 
your position clear. You can’t put me on record 
as favorable to your plans. Your allusion was 
veiled, but it undoubtedly referred to my young 
friend, Brandon, and his editorial policy in the 
Bugle. We might as well speak frankly. He is 
my friend. His editorial attitude is well known 
by me, and carries my hearty endorsement. I 
have known Jim Brandon since boyhood, and he 
has ever been clean, fearless, upright and honest. 
The Bugle stands for the best interests of Bison 
City and this congressional district. There is 
no need of mincing words. I am unequivocally, 
unalterably for Jim Brandon, the Bison City 
Bugle, clean government, honest business and a 
square deal. If this means the opposition of the 
elements he is fighting, I welcome it. I came into 
business and politics with clean hands and, God 
helping me, I will go out the same way. Men of 
Bison City, there is no middle ground. Jim 
Brandon stands for order and decency, and with 
him I stand or fall.” 

His face was pale, but there was a gleam of fire 
from his narrowed eyes and resolution in the for- 


120 


THE KANSAN 


ward thrust of his firm jaw. He raised his 
clenched hand in the intensity of his emotion, and 
his voice was vibrant. 

“I have seen this issue coming. It must be met 
frankly, fairly. The gambling fever is now at 
its height. It is a time for calm judgment. The 
dance hall, the saloon, the gambling den, the get- 
rich-quick speculation, the accompanying robbery, 
murder and other incident crimes must cease if 
genuine prosperity is to abide with us. Law and 
order must be upheld. Surgery that cuts out the 
civic evil from the body politic may be painful, 
even dangerous, but it is imperative, nevertheless. 
No real man can afford to line up on the other 
side. Let’s meet the issue fairly. Let no set of 
men dare try to crucify Jim Brandon for his stand 
for law, order and decency. He is in the right. ’ * 

Placing his hand lovingly on Jim’s shoulder he 
sank into the seat beside him. Then came a wild 
cheer from the crowd that shook the building. 
The Congressman’s words had gone home. 
Friends grasped Jim Brandon’s hand and heartily 
congratulated him. In the excitement of the mo¬ 
ment Steve Osborn and Jonathan Butler quietly 
left the room. Sam Sparks looked worried, but 
smiled, and was as suave as ever. 

As the crowd filed out, the resplendent form of 
George Washington Bean was seen in the hallway. 
He had been an interested spectator outside the 
partly closed door. His face was wreathed in 
smiles. His head wobbled knowingly. It was 
evident that he was anxious to meet the Con¬ 
gressman. 

“Hello, George, how goes it?” asked the lat¬ 
ter as the hotel clerk purposely projected himself 
into his path. 

“Fine as frog hair,” replied Bean, who was 


THE BISON BUBBLE 


121 


still thrilled by the vivid words of the leader. “I 
heard what you said, Mr. Hull. It was great. All 
true, too. I’m in a position where I learn a good 
many things.” He clung to the Congressman’s 
hand for a farewell word in parting. “Don’t 
waste much time on Jonathan Butler,” he cau¬ 
tioned as he ambled along on his way to the hotel 
lobby. 4 ‘He’s only a gillagaloo bird, one of the 
kind that sticks his bill in the sand and whistles 
every time Steve Osborn commands. Steve is the 
guy to watch. I know. ’ ’ 

His head wabbled wisely, and his mercury- 
backed diamond flashed resplendently as he said 
good-bye to Jason Hull and stepped behind the 
clerk’s desk, dipped the pen in the open ink well 
and handed it deferentially to a waiting guest. 


CHAPTER XI 


The Course of True Love 

Before returning to Washington, Congressman 
Hull decided to make a journey out over his dis¬ 
trict. Jim Brandon was invited to accompany 
him. The time was Indian summer. The land¬ 
scape, with its lazy hillsides and slumbering brown 
fields, was restful to the leader and his young 
friend as they jogged along country lanes behind 
Jason Hull’s gentle nag. In the air, high above, 
a few fluffy clouds drifted slowly. The red cone of 
the sumac blazed along the banks of Willow Creek 
and sunflowers raised their golden faces to the 
sun, nodding cheerfully in the bracing air. 

Jim was visibly impressed with this visit to the 
scenes of his boyhood. The prairie over which 
he had raced in youth with lads of his own age 
was now laid out in well-tilled farms. There were 
fences and bridges, barns and orchards, hedge¬ 
rows and groves of shimmering cottonwoods. The 
whole face of the landscape was changed, not in 
the valley of Willow Creek alone but on out over 
the district. All up and down the great valley 
of the Arkansas, even up to the headwaters of 
Powder Creek and the Antelope and on down to 
the flats of the Wildcat there were settlers ’ home¬ 
steads, with houses, barns and huge stacks of hay 
and grain that shouldered each other in good 
nature. 

New towns were springing up as if by magic, 
towns where the boom craze of Bison City was be¬ 
ing repeated on a minor scale, each hamlet sure 

122 


COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 


123 


that when the railroad was extended on west from 
Bison City it could not well afford to turn a cold 
shoulder to such magnificent opportunities as each 
embryo city had to offer. 

Hull enjoyed the journey immensely. He knew 
most of the farmers and ranchmen personally. 
They felt honored by his visit, and by the kindly 
solicitude he expressed for their welfare. Many of 
them knew Jim Brandon and were regular readers 
of his newspaper, so the journey was in the nature 
of a homely visit among old neighbors. 

Returning late one evening as they turned into 
the Willow Creek valley and headed toward the 
rising ground where the lights of Bison City 
twinkled on the dim horizon, Congressman Hull 
turned to Jim and said: 

“Why so silent, Jim? You haven’t spoken for 
the last half hour. What’s on your mind?” 

“I was thinking of how this country has 
changed in only a few years. It always makes me 
sad, somehow, whenever I visit this locality. It 
recalls scenes of the early days when my mother 
was so happy before the Indian raid. I know 
every swale where the primroses bloomed. The 
ridges where I stalked the antelope are now rus¬ 
tling with the blades of com. Even the Butler 
ranch where Wash Bean and I worked so hard as 
boys, is now in stranger’s hands. I loved the 
prairie of those times. Even with all the priva¬ 
tions those were happy days.” 

Jim’s thoughts were of the Butler home and his 
love for Marion, the deep passion of his life, and 
of the cloud that was coming between them now 
in the person of Jonathan Butler and his question¬ 
able life. 

“There is really not so much change, after all, 
Jim. There is a change of location for you and 


124 


THE KANSAN 


for me, but that is about all there is to it. You 
have been transferred to a larger field of useful¬ 
ness. So have I. If there is lack of excitement, 
even that may come if you continue in the path of 
duty with your newspaper. Don’t you think so ?’ ’ 

“It is highly probable,” Jim replied. “But 
come what may, so long as I edit the Bugle, I am 
going to stand for what I think is right, regardless 
of consequences. But it seems so much easier to 
follow the line of least resistance and let the 
other fellow do the reforming.” 

“It may look that way, but it isn’t such an 
easy road after all,” said Jason Hull, positively. 
“Take the case of our old friend, Jonathan But¬ 
ler. He is following the easy road these days, 
but as sure as fate he is riding to a fall hard, my 
boy. Mark the prediction .’ 1 

“That’s one of the things that worries me 
most,” Jim replied. The conversation was drifting 
to the subject nearest his heart. “Mr. Butler is 
becoming more deeply involved in the affairs of 
the Western Trust Company every day. His 
deals are shadier. He is becoming more reckless. 
The fact that he has succeeded in putting over 
several questionable transactions only whets his 
appetite for more. And he is so smooth and plaus¬ 
ible, so shifty and convincing, that unless one has 
positive information of his culpability, it is hard 
to disbelieve him. Now, Marion, for instance, still 
has implicit confidence in him. She doesn’t know 
the truth. I haven’t the courage to tell her, for at 
times when I have talked with Mr. Butler I’ll ad¬ 
mit that he had me almost convinced that he 
was acting in good faith in his dealings.” 

Congressman Hull rubbed his chin thoughtfully, 
with a side glance at Jim, who had ceased speak- 


COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 125 

ing and was apparently thinking deeply. Finally 
he said: 

“You are in a rather delicate situation, aren’t 
you, boy?” 

Jim looked rather puzzled, but did not reply. 

“You and Marion are almost on the verge of 
trouble over the actions of Jonathan Butler. Now, 
isn’t that true?” 

“Yes, sir, it’s true,” said Jim with a sigh, “and 
I don’t see my way out of it. I’ve got to go ahead 
with the fight. If Mr. Butler persists in get¬ 
ting in the way, he must take what comes. Then 
what will Marion do? I feel bad enough about 
Mr. Butler, for he befriended me many times when 
I needed help the most. I feel that I am under 
obligations to him. If it is hard to attack him, 
think what it will be when the girl I love knows 
the truth!” 

“Just one thing right here, Jim. Does she love 
you truly, completely?” 

“I think she does, sir. We have been lovers 
since childhood.” 

“And your love for her is steadfast?” 

“As firm as the stars in heaven,” said Jim 
Brandon with reverence, turning a sober face up 
to the starlit sky. 

“Then little else matters,” said the Congress¬ 
man with finality. “They say the course of true 
love never runs smoothly. Your ship of love may 
run close to the rocks at times before the journey 
is ended, but true love should be able to stand al¬ 
most any test. Be honest. Be fair. Do your 
duty, for that is the only way to retain the respect 
and love of an honest woman. Love that will not 
stand testing is a thing not worthy of your con¬ 
fidence. All you need to do is to stand square and 


126 THE KANSAN 

take your chances. Everything will come out all 
right in time. ’’ 

“I hope you are right,” said Jim Brandon, 
rather doubtfully. 

‘ 4 Have you talked with her about her father’s 
conduct?” asked Jason Hull. 

“No; it is a subject we have both purposely 
avoided, yet I know she feels that I am going out 
of my way to injure her father.” 

4 ‘ Then take my advice and speak as frankly as 
you dare. It is always best to have a fair under¬ 
standing at the start. Think it over. ’ ’ 

“I will, Mr. Hull,” said Jim, solemnly. 

They were now on the streets of Bison City. 
At the Congressman’s barn, after the horse had 
been watered and fed and safely housed in the 
stall, the two friends shook hands warmly, and 
as they parted for the night Jason Hull said: 

“Remember this when I am away and you are 
fighting your battles seemingly alone: The 
knockers always make the most noise, even if they 
are in the minority. The common people are 
sound at heart and want to do the right thing, but 
they make little noise unless deeply aroused. On 
this account you may at times misjudge them. 
Make up your mind about the right thing to do, 
and then do it, no matter how loud the anvil 
chorus. In other words, keep in mind the fact 
that if you stop to kick at every cur that snaps at 
your heels, you will never find time to get any¬ 
where. Good night, Jim.” 

Jim Brandon returned to his lonesome room at 
the hotel, firmly determined to follow his friend’s 
advice. 

The following evening he called upon Marion. 
Jonathan Butler was living in style these days. 
The Butler home was located in the most aris- 


COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 


127 


tocratic section of the town. The honse was 
roomy and ornate. There was a spacious lawn 
where carefully nurtured bluegrass struggled for 
a foothold beneath the shade of stately maple 
trees and shimmering cottonwoods. As Jim came 
down the walk Marion was sitting on the front 
porch. She saw him coming, and arose to meet 
him with outstretched hands and gladness shin¬ 
ing in her eyes. 

“Jim, I’m glad to see you. You have been 
away for days and days,” was her friendly greet¬ 
ing. 

“Yes, dear, we were all over the district. It 
was a sort of vacation. The changes in the coun¬ 
try are wonderful. You would hardly know the 
old prairie now.” 

He seated himself on the steps of the porch, 
Marion at his side. She had been pretty when a 
school girl. In womanhood she was resplendent, 
and he gazed at her with a warmth of love that 
was fairly consuming. Her dark hair broke in 
waves over her forehead and snuggled caressingly 
about her fair neck. Her eyes were large and con¬ 
fiding, her features oval and symmetrical, mouth 
firm with lips of cherry, chin piquant yet forceful 
and a smile that electrified the dainty dimples in 
her cheeks. To Jim she was a queen among 
women, and his heart was heavy at times at the 
thought of pending trouble. 

‘ ‘ Our old school building still stands, but nearly 
everything else in Willow Creek seems changed. 
I was not there long, but the visit recalled a flood 
of tender memories,” Jim continued. 

“We will never forget those old days, Jim, no 
matter what happens,” said Marion, softly. 

“No, we will never forget them,” he replied. 
“Marion, since my visit to the scenes of our child- 


128 


THE KANSAN 


hood, a little verse I saw the other day in some 
magazine, keeps running through my mind. 
Would you care to hear it?” 

ii Yes, Jim,” gently. 

‘ 1 It is this: 

“There in old haunts, your dear remembered graces 
Like summer blooms returning come to view; 

My heart builds shrines along the wayside places 
Where I have been with you!” 

11 How beautiful,” she exclaimed, placing her 
hand in his. ‘ 4 Did you really feel like that, Jim ? ’’ 

‘ 1 1 did, dear. I couldn’t have expressed the sen¬ 
sation half so well myself. The stanza fits per¬ 
fectly. ’ ’ 

Tightening his hold upon her hand he gazed 
squarely into her eyes, his face close to hers 
in the shades of purple twilight. 

“ Marion, we have loved each other since child¬ 
hood. ’’ His voice was vibrant with emotion. “We 
have arrived at maturity. Every day passed now 
means to us a leaf lost from the book of our lives. 
Don’t you think we are wasting our golden her¬ 
itage ? ’ ’ 

“You mean that you want me to marry you? ’’ 

“Yes, and that soon.” 

She drew her hand gently away, and for a mo¬ 
ment there was a mental struggle. He knew of 
what she was thinking: Of his stand against her 
father; of her struggle between love of him and 
loyalty to her father. Heretofore the issue had 
been avoided. He felt the time had come to meet 
it fairly as Jason Hull had suggested. For sev¬ 
eral moments they sat in silence. 

4 4 There are many things to consider if you are 
really in earnest,” Marion said, slowly. 


COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 


129 


i 1 Only one of real importance, onr love for each 
other. I never was more in earnest in my life.” 

“Jim, are you and father the best of friends 
these days?” she asked abruptly. The time had 
come. 

“I have been expecting that question, dearest. 
I am glad that you asked. Since the boom started 
and your father became interested in the Western 
Trust Company, he seems to avoid me. He is not 
as frank and cordial as in the old days.” 

“I was afraid so,” she replied, sadly. “Hon¬ 
estly, Jim, whose fault is it? What is the trouble? 
He tells me very little about his affairs, but I 
have sensed a growing coolness between you two 
for months.” 

“It is not altogether my fault, I assure you. 
I am under a sense of deep gratitude to him. I 
have not forgotten that he helped mother and me 
when we were in dire distress, nor am I unmind¬ 
ful of the day at my mother’s funeral when he 
took me by the hand and offered me a home.” 
Tears glistened in the young man’s eyes as he 
spoke, and his voice trembled. 

“I know, Jim, but now? Father has intimated 
that your attitude on the Bugle might endanger 
some of his plans. That if persisted in, it might 
wreck the whole future of Bison City and ruin not 
only him but hundreds of others. I cannot think 
that you would wilfully do wrong, Jim. I know 
you too well; but you know father’s convincing 
way. He makes things appear quite real when he 
tries.” 

“We are drifting away from our original sub¬ 
ject, sweetheart, but still I am willing to admit 
that the questions you have raised are pertinent. 
I am not fighting your father with my newspaper, 
and will not, unless he cares to interest himself in 


130 


THE KANSAN 


the affairs of others whom I consider are a men¬ 
ace to the welfare of this town. The Bugle has 
never attacked him, personally. You know that. 
If he makes the fight of others his fight, what is 
there to do? I am not charging him with culpa¬ 
bility. I am after others.’’ 

“Jim, this affair troubles me greatly. Isn’t 
there some way out of it? Do you really need to 
keep up this fight that threatens to bring you 
nothing but unhappiness and possible disaster?” 

Jim’s eyes narrowed at that, and his jaw stiff¬ 
ened. “Yes, dear, I need to go on to the finish. 
There is a gang in this town that must be exposed. 
I can’t stand for their methods. What need is 
there for me to explain the evils of Steve Osborn 
and his disreputable enterprises? His saloon, 
dance hall and gambling den are too well known to 
require me to justify myself in the course I am 
taking. But Steve Osborn and his gang are only 
the outward manifestation of some of the crook¬ 
edness that is being hatched in Bison City these 
days,” he went on, patiently. “Their claws are 
reaching out into semi-respectable circles. There 
are those higher up, of whom Steve Osborn is 
merely the cat’s paw.” 

‘ ‘ Do you know them all, and what they are try¬ 
ing to do?” 

“No, I wish I did. The rest would be easy. 
But I know enough to be sure that I can’t stand 
for these men whose hands are drenched with the 
blood of men and the tears of women.” 

“Is the situation as desperate as that?” asked 
Marion, awed by his vehemence. 

“I haven’t told half of what I already know,” 
he asserted, positively. 

“Jim, I fear for you, and I love you more 
tonight than ever before in my life.” She placed 


COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 


131 


her hand gently on his shoulder. ‘ ‘ I haven ’t given 
you an answer about our marriage. I can’t think 
what is best for us tonight. Give me time, won’t 
you, Jim? Let me talk again with father. Pos¬ 
sibly he can make the situation clearer. Your lot 
is a hard one, dear boy, and my heart goes out to 
you in the struggle that is to come. But think 
of my situation also: my duty to my father; my 
love for you. This only can I say to you: I love 
you and I trust you. If your duty urges you into 
the fray, then go with my love and encourage¬ 
ment. ’ ’ , 

He took her in his arms and as he pressed her 
close to his heart, he said, ever so gently: 

“Love is the main thing after all. I hope 
that come what may, your love and trust will 
endure as mine.” 

She clung to him as he bade her good night, and 
walked with him as far as the gate. There were 
tears on her eyelashes as she stood with him in the 
moonflecked shade of the cottonwood tree, where 
the yellow leaves of autumn drifted slowly to the 
lawn like somber messengers from a spirit world. 

She leaned upon the gate and watched him as 
he walked erect and commanding down the street 
beneath the whispering maples. Then, with a sob, 
she turned back to the spacious Butler home with 
its imposing porches and dormer windows. 

“Oh, Jim, Jim!” she sobbed, “I’m so afraid. 
We were so happy in the poverty of the pioneer 
days. Money hasn’t brought happiness to me— 
to any of us.” 

It was late in the evening when Jim Brandon 
climbed the stairway and felt his way along the 
dimly lighted hallway to his room at the Com¬ 
mercial Hotel. As he reached the door of his 
room the flutter of something white pinned 



132 


THE KANSAN 


thereon attracted his attention. It was a sheet 
of soiled notepaper upon which a message was 
scrawled in an uneven hand. Removing it he 
stepped to the dim hall lamp where he read the 
words and smiled. This was the message: 

WARNING 

Jim Brandon, if you don’t let up, you 
and the Bugle will get what is coming to 
you. Committee. 

Jim crumpled the soiled note in his hand and 
tossed it outside the open window. 

“Gang is getting scared,” he mused. “Well, 
the trail seems to be getting a little warmer. 
Possibly some others will get what is coming to 
them, too, before this thing is over.” 

He threw back his head and laughed heartily as 
he opened the door and entered his room. 

“Bluff,” he laughed. “Bluff, pure and 
simple . 91 


CHAPTER XII 


A Bribe Is Offered 

The boom at Bison City now assumed such pro¬ 
portions that even many of the most enthusiastic 
were experiencing moments of sanity, times when 
there crept into their thoughts the possibility that 
it might have its limitations. Not so with Jona¬ 
than Butler, however. His dreams were coming 
true. Values were grossly inflated. Record sales 
today were boosted to new records on the morrow. 
To him this meant that the next purchaser need 
only send the price on higher and take his profits. 
It was all so easy that the gambling fever had 
spread like wildfire. 

Jonathan Butler plunged with the wildest, took 
profits and plunged again on a scale that aston¬ 
ished even the speculation-mad gamblers of the 
town. He was growing stouter as fortune smiled 
upon him. He was well groomed, yet his Prince 
Albert coat failed to hide the curve of his cor¬ 
pulent stomach. His full, black beard was well 
trimmed. His cheeks were plump and his eyes 
twinkled merrily, even kindly, beneath his shaggy 
brows. That he was heavily in debt to the West¬ 
ern Trust Company, worried him not at all. That 
his loans had reached an unlawful figure was to 
him only an incident. At present values he rea¬ 
soned that he could easily pay out by making a few 
quick sales, but why make them, he protested, 
when by next month, next week, possibly even to¬ 
morrow, prices would be higher? It was one of 
his famous epigrams that the man in debt should 


134 THE KANSAN 

never worry, but leave the worrying to the other 
fellow. 

But to others there came doubts, especially to 
the directors of the Western Trust Company. 
They began to realize that the bank was upon an 
insecure footing; that all was not plain sailing. 
Others besides Jonathan Butler who were on the 
inside, had likewise borrowed far beyond the limit 
of conservative banking, even beyond the limita¬ 
tions of the banking laws. The future began to 
look dubious, even should the boom continue. 
They realized that somewhere there must be an 
end. Had it been reached! If not, then how much 
further dared the plungers go! If the limit had 
been reached, what then! These questions be¬ 
came insistent and no satisfactory answers were 
forthcoming. 

If the limit had actually been reached and the 
boom was due to collapse any time soon, even the 
wildest enthusiasts and promoters of the bank 
and those behind the soap-bubble schemes it had 
fostered, realized that the crash would be ter¬ 
rific, that ruin stared them in the face, and with 
that, a strong probability that the firm fingers of 
the law might come clutching desperately close to 
them. They well knew of the tempting rates of 
interest that had been made to secure deposits; 
that there had been an issue of ‘ 4 Gold Debenture 
Bonds, ’ ’ a security of doubtful value. Fake com¬ 
panies had been formed for many questionable 
enterprises. The directors of these companies 
were merely figureheads, the real movers behind 
them being the directors of the bank who had 
access to the funds which they made available for 
financing huge deals of doubtful probity. It was 
a happy-go-lucky sort of business dealing, en- 


A BRIBE IS OFFERED 


135 


gendered by the lure of great profits and a pyra¬ 
miding of values that was to know no end. 

Added to this burden of the tottering Trust 
Company was the knowledge that was gradually 
being diffused, that the real gambling, thug ele¬ 
ment of the town, headed by Steve Osborn, ap¬ 
parently had easy access to the funds of the in¬ 
stitution. There was also the further grave men- 
ance to their plans in the fight for order, sane¬ 
ness and decency, being waged by Jim Brandon in 
the Bison City Bugle. At first the promoters 
smiled at these attacks. Steve Osborn merely 
sneered and Jonathan Butler plunged ahead, giv¬ 
ing no heed to Brandon and his newspaper. 

But now things had reached a stage where the 
constant hammering was beginning to tell. There 
were periods of unrest and even distrust; a fear 
that the boom was being overdone; that law and 
order and commonsense would in time work 
changes. And they were far from ready for it. 
Conservative ones among the inner circle realized 
that the Bugle’s attitude was a menace. A coun¬ 
cil of the leaders was called, and after many 
whisperings and consultations, a delegation was 
selected to call at the newspaper office to arrange 
for a compromise and a cessation of hostilities. 
The move was imperative. 

Jim Brandon was busy at his desk when the 
delegation arrived. His sleeves were rolled up to 
his elbows, his slim, energetic figure bent over the 
desk, his brows contracted over the work at hand. 
As he raised his head at the sound of the footsteps 
of his callers, there was a narrowing of his eye¬ 
lids, but no further sign of emotion. 

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, politely. 
“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” He 


136 THE KANSAN 

knew instinctively that something of importance 
was on hand. 

Sam Sparks looked aronnd at his companions, 
cleared his throat, and began: 

“Well, Jim, we are a body of business men of 
this town, and we have come to have a little quiet 
talk with you.” 

“All right. Go ahead,” said Jim, cheerfully, 
leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind 
his head. 

Sparks, in a friendly voice, resumed: “We are 
not here to attempt to dictate to you, yet some 
of us feel that the Bugle is not giving the town a 
square deal!’ ’ 

“In what way?” asked Jim, a trifle crisply. 

“Well, in a general business way. Everything 
is going along fine. Some of us are not even in 
a position to admit that the town has a boom. We 
are rather inclined to consider it a steady 
growth.” He looked around at his companions 
and received nods of encouragement. 

“What has that to do with the Bugle? Why 
not get down to business?” said Jim. 

“Well, we think our leading newspaper should 
be with us in our plans for a greater Bison City. 
That the paper should boost rather than to try to 
retard our growth. That’s what we have called 
to talk to you about. Now, your paper has not 
only antagonized some of the questionable enter¬ 
prises of this town, but of late there is apparently 
a growing disposition on your part to call a halt 
on all speculation, and at times articles appear 
which are in the nature of veiled thrusts at even 
the Western Trust Company, the biggest financial 
institution in this town.” 

“Go ahead. I am listening,” said Jim, 
quietly. 


A BRIBE IS OFFERED 


137 


“All right. Now so far as the Trust Company 
is concerned, we’re perfectly solvent, and can 
stand any fair criticism yon may have to offer. 
But the general crusade you have been making 
may lead to more serious consequences than you 
think. Boom or no boom, business is on in full 
swing. We can’t afford to have it stopped. A 
business collapse would be a calamity, and we 
should all try our best to avoid such a thing. It 
would shake some of us up pretty lively and would 
ruin others. See the situation V y 

“Yes, I think I do,” said Jim, evenly. “Pos¬ 
sibly I see it better than some of the rest of you. 
Sam, I want to say to you and the rest of these 
gentlemen, once and for all, that the Bugle has no 
fight against any legitimate business in this town. 
Such a stand as you suggest is not true. But when 
it comes to gambling, whether in a den where the 
cowboy is separated from his coin by the aid of 
knockout drops if necessary, or the more genteel 
and stupendous gambling of crazy investment 
boomers, who are gambling with other people’s 
money, the Bugle may feel urged to call a halt, 
and that before very long.” Jim was sitting 
erect now, eyes bright, cheeks a trifle flushed. 

“Now hold on a minute, right here,” came the 
smooth tones of Jonathan Butler as Sam Sparks 
started a hasty retort. “We didn’t come over 
here to start any row. We came to talk things 
over in a friendly manner. Jim, I know you are 
sound to the core, but it is my honest opinion that 
you lack vision. This town’s bound to grow, and 
it is growing now by leaps and bounds. It takes 
all kinds of people to make a world, they say, and 
it likewise takes a good many kinds to make a city. 
We ought to be liberal, progressive, far-seeing. 


138 THE KANSAN 

We are not building for today alone, but for to¬ 
morrow.” 

“Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Butler, that 
there was a possibility that you have already 
builded for the future? For tomorrow and even 
years ahead, already? That what is going on 
now is only the bubble-blowing of boom-crazed 
gamblers, and that the worst of it all is that your 
boasted building is being done in a measure with 
money that does not belong to the bubble- 
blowers ?’ ’ 

This shot went close home, and Jonathan Butler 
winced. 

“There’s another thing, Jim,” broke in Sam 
Sparks. “You pretend to be a good friend to 
Congressman Hull. Your course is losing him 
friends every day, and if the Bugle keeps on ham¬ 
mering until things wind up in a panic, you will 
not only ruin him politically, but financially as 
well. His bank is no more solvent than other in¬ 
stitutions. Can you afford to go back on those 
who have befriended you?” 

Smarting under Jim’s former words, Jonathan 
Butler said, curtly: “Judging by experience, I 
don’t think he would let a little thing like that 
bother him in the least.” 

Jim felt this thrust keenly. It hurt him deeper 
than he cared to show, but Sam Sparks was speak¬ 
ing again, requiring his attention. 

“Be reasonable, Jim. Listen just a moment. 
Everybody else is making money. Why shouldn’t 
you? Why not come in with us? That’s what we 
are really over here for this evening, not to quar¬ 
rel. We want you with us, and are not asking you 
to invest any money, either. We have a comfort¬ 
able block of stock in the Trust Company set aside 
for promotion purposes. I am violating no con- 


A BRIBE IS OFFERED 


139 


Science when I assure you that I have secured au¬ 
thority to turn a block of this stock over to you 
as a promotion gratuity. It’s all open, square and 
above board. If you prefer the bonds we can 
arrange it that way. We don’t ask your support 
in exchange. All we ask is that you call off this 
fight. There are big things ahead for all of us, 
and we can pull through easily if we are not con¬ 
stantly nagged and molested, and our credit is 
not assailed. Why not come in on the ground 
floor? We will pull through with flying colors 
anyway, but we want you to share with us. You 
know the old saying: ‘If you can’t lick ’em, jine 
’em.’ We can make it worth while.” 

He leaned forward expectantly as did others of 
the group. Jim arose and stepped nearer. All the 
warmth died out of his eyes and his face was pale. 

“So it is a bribe you came to offer! I thought 
so from the start. Sam, you should know me well 
enough to realize that you couldn’t buy me with 
real money, let alone stock in your tottering bank 
or your worthless bonds. As well attempt to offer 
me a percentage on the earnings of the painted 
girls of the dance halls or a rake-off on the 
crooked roulette wheels. It’s all a useless waste 
of time, gentlemen, if that’s all you came for.” 

“Jim, be reasonable,” pleaded Sam Sparks. 

“Man, I am reasonable,” he replied, evenly. 
‘ 1 Bluffing will not work. Neither will bribery. ’ ’ 

“Let’s go,” said Steve Osborn. “I knew all 
the time it was no use. He will down all of us if 
he can. Do you expect him to try to save Hull or 
any of the rest of us when he is guilty of sitting 
on Jonathan Butler’s porch courting his daughter 
while openly plotting Butler’s ruin! He makes 
me sick. ’ ’ 

At this retort Jim blanched and his whole body 


140 


THE KANSAN 


grew tense, yet when he replied his voice was still 
steady, soft and misleading. 

“I wouldn’t bring any lady’s name into the con¬ 
versation, if I were you, Steve. ’ ’ 

His words, his pose, deceived Steve Osborn. 
Heretofore, whenever he had addressed Jim Bran¬ 
don, the latter had flashed fire. This new attitude 
was deceptive. The glitter in Jim’s eyes and the 
convulsive clenching of his fist should have warned 
him, but it did not. Emboldened by his success 
and secure in the numbers about him, he con¬ 
tinued: 

“You wouldn’t, eh? Well, I can’t say that I 
blame you. A pretty son-in-law you would make. 
I can see how Jonathan Butler tolerates you, for 
he is a big-hearted, whole-souled, liberal man. But 
to think that Marion stands for you, to think how 
you manage to fool—” He got no further. 

Jim Brandon sprang forward as lithe as a 
young panther. Thoughts of the early days 
flashed through his mind as he leaped forward, 
arm drawn back to strike; thoughts of that night 
on the lonesome trail; of the insults to his mother 
at the Willow Creek homestead. All the force of his 
young body, all the blind hatred of a lifetime was 
behind his arm. The blow landed squarely on 
Steve Osborn’s sneering face and he fell like a log 
and lay in a huddled mass where he landed on the 
floor. 

The assault had been delivered so suddenly that 
none had time to interfere. Instantly the whole 
room was in an uproar, the babble of excited 
voices adding to the confusion. Jim Brandon, al¬ 
though seething within, returned coolly to his 
desk. Placing both hands on the desk he bent for¬ 
ward, facing the excited crowd. 

“Gentlemen, I think we have had quite enough 


A BRIBE IS OFFERED 


141 


conference for this time.” Pointing to the man 
on the floor, he continued: “Take him away. Get 
him out of my sight. And the next time you come 
to confer with me, leave him behind or the conse¬ 
quences may be more serious. I don’t intend to 
hunt for trouble, but hereafter I am not going out 
of my way to avoid it. ’ ’ 

The crowd was bluffed and at bay. There was 
a scuffle on the floor as Steve Osborn was helped 
to his feet, his face ashen except where the blood 
trickled from the wound on his cheek. He wiped 
the blood from his cheek with a semi-conscious 
sweep of his left hand, while his right fumbled in 
the clothing beneath his coat. Some one in the 
crowd yelled: 

i 6 Look out. He’s after his gun! ’ ’ 

Jim did not stir, but stood looking squarely at 
the swaying, bloody figure of his foe. The crowd 
surged around Steve Osborn. The light flashed on 
his revolver as he jerked it forth. Instantly the 
huge form of Jonathan Butler was beside the 
gambler, forceful, masterly. Steve Osborn’s right 
hand was held firmly in his iron grasp. 

“Don’t be a fool, Steve,” he cautioned the half- 
dazed man. “Don’t attempt to add murder to 
your other accomplishments. You were in the 
wrong. You went too far.” 

It was a dramatic moment, the two enemies fac¬ 
ing each other, looking each other fairly in the 
eye, the younger man pale but self-contained, the 
gambler frenzied and with murder in his heart as 
consciousness returned and a realization of all 
that had transpired dawned upon him. 

“Get out of the way and let me kill the little 
skunk,” he hissed, foam flecking his lip as he 
struggled to free the hand that held the revolver, 
but Jonathan Butler’s grip was like iron. 


142 


THE KANSAN 


The crowd pressed closely around Osborn and 
Butler, and gradually pushed them toward the 
door. 

“I’ll be even with you for this,” screamed the 
gambler, as he again wiped the blood from his 
cheek and shook the gory, trembling fingers at the 
young editor, who stood calmly behind his desk, 
glittering eyes watching every move in front. 

“You’ll have quite a score to settle when that 
time comes. Don’t put it oft too long,” was his 
parting shot as the crowd hustled Steve Osborn 
outside the office and up the street amid great con¬ 
fusion. 

Jim Brandon, alone in his newspaper office, 
settled down rather limp in his chair. 

“I guess the fight must be on in earnest if this 
is a sample,” he mused. “Threats, bribery, in¬ 
sult ! Congressman Hull was probably right. The 
knockers are capable of making some noise all 
right. Steve Osborn got off lightly. I should 
have settled accounts with him when I was a boy. 
I may have trouble with him yet, but he is too big 
a coward to work in the open. I’ll be ready for 
him from this on.” 

A few minutes after the crowd had departed, 
George Washington Bean breezed into the Bugle 
office. He was evidently surprised at the paleness 
and tension of his friend Brandon. 

“Hello, Jim, what’s up?” he questioned. 

“Just had a little flurry and had to hit Steve 
Osborn in order to teach him to be careful in the 
future. ’ ’ 

4 ‘ Sufferin ’ cats! Tell me about it. ’ ’ 

Jim proceeded to enlighten him. Bean’s eyes 
glistened and his smile broadened as Brandon pro¬ 
ceeded to tell of the interview, the bribe and the 
blow. 


A BRIBE IS OFFERED 


143 


‘‘I’d have given anything to have seen it,” he 
said, half mournfully. “It’s always my luck to 
be out when anything big is pulled off. I knew 
something had happened. That’s why I dropped 
in. ’ ’ 

“How did you know?” 

“Easy enough. I saw Sam Sparks down the 
street acting like an old hen with the earache. 
Others of the gang were excited, too, and I heard 
your name repeated often, so I beat it right down 
here to get the dope straight. Jim, I am afraid 
you are going to get into trouble. That gang is 
going to be as busy from now on as a hunch of 
mosquitoes in a sleeping porch. Now, if it was 
me, I believe I would go slow. I’d rather people 
would think I was a quitter than to have them 
remark about how natural I looked in a casket. ” 

George Washington Bean’s head wabbled so¬ 
berly. Brandon laughed. 

“So you advise me to become a quitter, eh? 
Well, you are not running a newspaper, and may 
not feel the responsibility that I do.” 

“Sure I’m not. I’m in a much safer position 
than you are. When I tell something, I can lie 
out of it in a pinch. With you it is different. 
When you print anything it’s there to stay, and 
you can’t hack out. Still, if you really like it, I 
guess you had better go to it until you get enough. 
They say when it rains the ocean never gets any 
wetter. ’ ’ 

“George, I know that crowd. Really, I don’t 
think they are dangerous. They are all crazy with 
the fever of speculation, and will go to extremes 
to attain their ends, but many of them are good 
men at heart. At present their actions haven’t 
an equal anywhere else in the West. They are 
drunk with temporary success. ’ ’ 


144 


THE KANSAN 


“Speaking of being drnnk reminds me of the 
story they tell on one of Steve Osborn’s new bar¬ 
tenders,” said Bean, with an expanding grin. 
“When he went to work Steve told him he hoped 
he would do better than the last man on the job, 
who was drunk all the time. The new man prom¬ 
ised to do his best, but said he couldn’t hope to 
do much better than that.” 

“I have made one good move,’’said Jim,serious¬ 
ly. “That was when I got the city authorities to 
send for Dave Fallon and appoint him city mar¬ 
shal. It has been one of the best things, from a 
law and order standpoint, that has happened for 
years. The tough element of this town are afraid 
of him. You know I met him when I was a boy. 
He was a scout with the troops during the In¬ 
dian raid, and he took a fancy to me. I went with 
him once on a buffalo hunt. With Fallon on the job 
here I would feel pretty safe, even if I thought 
the gang meant trouble. Since coming here from 
Fort Harper his work has been so creditable that 
they have given him the further appointment of 
deputy sheriff.” 

“Fallon is sure some hustler,” assented Bean, 
knowingly. “He don’t allow no flies to settle on 
his nose. He don’t carry a gun either, but even 
the toughest Texas cowboys know him, and that 
he has a reputation for using one when he has 
to. If he can handle that bunch without a gun he 
wouldn’t have any trouble at all with a fellow like 
Steve Osborn. If Steve should undertake to 
monkey with him, old Dave would just slap 
Steve’s nose around until he could sneeze in his 
own ear, and that would end the affair. I’m 
strong for old Dave.” 

“Wait a minute, George, and I’ll go with you,” 
said Jim, as his friend started to go. “Greorge, 


A BRIBE IS OFFERED 


145 


you have been a lot of help to me in times past in 
getting a line on what is happening in this town. 
People will talk to you who will close up like a 
clam when I am around. I want you to keep your 
eyes and your ears open and your mouth closed.’’ 

“Pretty big assignment for me, that last part,” 
grinned Bean. 

“I know it can be done or I would not have 
asked it. Seriously, George, I need you now, more 
than ever before. You are at the hotel and on 
the streets more than I am. I am not making this 
fight for fun. It is serious business, as you well 
know. This skirmish at the office tonight was only 
the beginning. From now on the fight will be on 
in earnest. There must be no let up until this 
crooked gang is downed and the town cleaned up 
and started out along sane lines. Somebody has 
to do it. That somebody seems to be me. I know 
I will have plenty of encouragement in time, but 
radical changes which affect the pocketbooks of 
even the crooks are always unpopular. I know 
that I can depend on you, and I want you to know 
that I appreciate your friendship.” 

“Sure, I’ll help you all I can. The doings of 
that gang are not right and, besides that—they 
are wrong,” said George Washington Bean, 
soberly. 

Closing the printing office the two friends, still 
in earnest conversation, walked slowly down the 
street to their quarters at the Commercial hotel. 


CHAPTER XIII 

On the Eve of Disaster 

Days passed into weeks and Bison City’s boom 
continued unabated. Feverish, reckless specula¬ 
tion was still rampant, but even the most reckless 
realized that the town was on the verge of dis¬ 
aster. Yet deals continued at inflated values only 
in the hope that one more turn could be made 
before the inevitable crash came. All were play¬ 
ing with fire and realized it full well, but the 
gambling fever was in their blood, and they de¬ 
termined to play the desperate game to the very 
last, trusting to luck not to be the hindmost when 
reason once more held sway and values shrank to 
normal. 

The evening before the great crash came, Jim 
Brandon sat alone in his office, deep in thought. 
There were no illusions for him. He knew that 
the end had come and that on the morrow there 
would be a reckoning. From reliable sources he 
had learned that the Western Trust Company was 
insolvent. Rumors were rife of wholesale looting 
of the bank’s funds, and depositors were nervous. 
Many of them had already withdrawn their hold¬ 
ings in anticipation of a collapse. In thorough 
touch with every phase of the situation, Jim Bran¬ 
don had three days previously sent a code message 
to Congressman Hull at Washington, and the lat¬ 
ter was expected to arrive on the midnight train, 
in order to be on the scene in case of a run on his 
bank. If reports were true, Sam Sparks was on 
the verge of a nervous breakdown. His scared, 


ON THE EVE OF DISASTER 147 


white face, blue lips and restless eyes that day at 
the bank added no confidence to the already 
alarmed patrons. 

It was with a sad heart that Jim Brandon real¬ 
ized that the fatal time had arrived. How great 
the crash would be he could not foretell, but the 
situation held much of importance for him as well 
as for others. The experience was going to be a 
bitter one for all, he felt sure of that. What of 
Jonathan Butler? How would Hull’s bank stand 
the strain? What would be Marion’s attitude in 
adversity? Would she charge him with responsi¬ 
bility for it all? Or would she learn the truth 
concerning her father’s deals and repudiate him? 
He determined to have one more quiet hour with- 
lier before the storm broke. 

When he called at the Butler home Marion re¬ 
ceived him cordially and invited him into the 
spacious front room. He thought he noticed 
traces of anxiety in her manner. Her first words 
after greeting him verified this. 

“Jim, I am greatly worried about father. 
There is something seriously wrong with him. 
Mother says he walked the floor in the library 
nearly all of last night.” 

The door into the library was ajar and a ray of 
light and the steady tramp of feet indicated that 
the room was occupied. Marion lowered her voice 
almost to a whisper. 

“I am afraid something dreadful is going to 
happen. I can’t tell what it is, but it frightens 
me. He seems so queer, so unlike his usually 
jovial self.” 

Jim Brandon thought he knew what troubled 
her father but he was discreet, and said: 

“Tell me all you know about it, dear. Possibly 


148 


THE KANSAN 


yon are merely nervous. Nerves play great 
pranks at times.’’ 

“It is not a case of nerves, Jim. There’s some¬ 
thing seriously wrong. Today he told mother 
that he had placed this home in her name. Why 
did he do that, Jim? When mother questioned 
him about it, he was evasive, he only said some¬ 
thing about it being a good plan to have an anchor 
to windward. What did he mean?” 

Again the shadow fell upon the door of the 
library and the footbeats came monotonously. 

“I presume he realizes as every sane man in 
Bison City does tonight, that the Western Trust 
Company has been looted, that the stock gamblers, 
the real estate gamblers and the sure-thing gam¬ 
blers have picked it clean. That its failure is 
only a matter of hours and that when it goes, the 
boom will go with it.” 

“But father has plenty of money. He has told 
me so time and again. He is a director of the 
Trust Company, but if he loses all he has invested 
there, he will still have plenty. He owns houses, 
store buildings, bonds; surely he could not be so 
worried over financial matters.” 

“It is going to be serious, dear. That’s why I 
came to have a little talk with you tonight before 
it happened. Whatever comes, I don’t want you 
to misjudge me. Things have gone so far now 
that there is absolutely no turning back. The 
crash will come in spite of anything I can do, or 
not do. As I said, it is only a question of hours, 
anyway. The more quickly it comes the sooner 
we will have it over with. In tomorrow’s paper 
I shall not only call attention to the crooked work 
of Steve Osborn and Sam Sparks, but to some 
of those higher up as well. The people might just 
as well know the truth first as last.” 


ON THE EYE OF DISASTER 149 


Jim Brandon had spoken in subdued tones, but 
be fancied be beard a stifled exclamation from 
somewhere behind that partly closed library door. 

“ Steve Osborn will have a good many things to 
answer for when the day of reckoning comes and 
I am glad on that account that it is not far off,” 
said Jim, in an attempt to shift the conversation. 
There was the possibility that Mr. Butler was 
listening. 

“Father told me of your latest trouble with 
Osborn. He did not blame you in the least. He 
said Osborn got just what was coming to him.” 

“He didn’t get half what be deserved,” said 
Jim, hotly. “I have stood a good deal from him 
in times past. But when he mentioned your name 
in a public place and under such circumstances, 
I saw red and acted automatically, I guess. Steve 
is running the vilest places in this town. He is 
also looting the bank and the worst of it is that he 
is dragging others down with him.” 

He paused a moment, thinking of the trouble 
in store for those dearest to him. Again he 
returned to the subject nearest his heart. 

“Marion, I wonder if you realize just how much 
I care for you and how I long to be in a position 
to protect and defend you? I am greatly in 
earnest. May I tell you all that is in my heart?” 

“Not tonight, Jim,” she parried, “when such 
momentous events hang in the balance. If there 
should be trouble for father and for others to¬ 
morrow, may there not be trouble for you, also? 
Do be careful, won’t you, Jim?” 

He sat for a moment thinking deeply. Should 
he risk telling her all he knew? He felt that he 
dared not, that it had best come from other 
sources, yet he was sorely tempted to make a clean 
breast of it all. 


150 


THE KANSAN 


“Marion, why do you put me off this way?” he 
finally asked, gently. “You know all that I would 
say to you, know that I long to call you all my 
own. How much longer must I wait? Will it be 
until some unforeseen shadow falls between us? 
Tonight, in the shadow of disaster, let me tell you 
once more all that is in my heart and then promise 
me that our dreams are to come true quickly.” 

He arose and held out his hands to her, plead¬ 
ingly. She arose, too, and gave him her hands. 

“Dear Jim, don’t make things too hard for me 
just now. I am trying my best to do what is right 
for both of us. I have a sort of presentment that 
I cannot explain, something that warns me to 
wait. It isn’t because I do not love you, it is 
rather because I love you so much that I dare not 
risk our happiness until I am sure, until this feel¬ 
ing of apprehension passes. I know you won’t 
understand, but you will trust me, won’t you, as 
you have always done ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, Marion, I would trust you with my life, 
with all I hold dearest on earth. My heart is in 
your keeping. There it will ever remain. I shall 
not worry you any longer. I just wanted to see 
you tonight, wanted to speak to you just once 
more before our little world turns topsy-turvy 
tomorrow. I have my presentments, too, but mine 
suggest that with you by my side, dear heart, all 
the rest would not matter. Good-night, dearest. ’ ’ 
“Good-night, Jim.” 

He was in deep study as he walked down the 
porch steps and out across the lawn. His head 
was bowed, hands thrust deep into his pockets, 
his thoughts centered on his love for the girl he 
had just left, of the possible arrival of Congress¬ 
man Hull and of the scenes that would be enacted 
when the Bugle was read in the morning. 


ON THE EVE OF DISASTER 151 


The moon wheeled slowly into the sky, veiling 
the shadows with golden mist and lighting np the 
lawn with enchanting power. The night winds 
rustled through the carpet of dry leaves and at 
times moaned through the bare, silvery branches 
of the cottonwoods. As Jim Brandon, deep in 
thought, passed the little thicket of shrubbery on 
the lawn he was startled when a hand reached out 
and clutched at his sleeve and a hoarse, subdued 
voice close upon him, said: 

“Jim, for God’s sake, don’t leave until I have 
had a word with you. I am desperate.” 

Jim turned his head quickly and looked into the 
haggard face of Jonathan Butler, who was drag¬ 
ging him into the deeper shadows. The change 
in the once proud man of affairs as well as the 
suddenness of his approach, startled Jim. His 
face was now close to Jim’s in the subdued moon¬ 
light. The strange light in his eyes and the trem¬ 
bling of his hands showed plainly the deep 
emotion under which he was laboring. 

i ‘ Come back here into the shadow, out of sight 
of the house,” he pleaded, in a husky voice. 
“Jim, I had just as well make a clean breast of 
it. I heard what you told Marion this evening 
about your proposed exposure in tomorrow’s 
Bugle. If you do that, I am not only ruined but 
disgraced as well. I’ll admit I have not always 
been exactly square, have even come close to the 
edge of the law at times, but have always managed 
to wiggle through. This time I am fairly caught, 
with no place to turn.” 

He still clutched Jim Brandon’s arm convul¬ 
sively and peered into his face with anxious eyes. 

“I’ll tell it all, Jim, and throw myself on your 
mercy,” he continued, as Jim did not reply. “The 
trouble is with the Western Trust Company. I 


152 


THE KANSAN 


have borrowed more than I had any right to, as 
a director. I have violated the law and prison 
stares me in the face. It is a long story. Shall 
I continue ?’ 9 

“Yes, go on.” 

“Well, the whole game looked easy. Others 
were taking the bank’s money and taking profits 
on quick deals. I was urged to try my hand at it. 
I, too, made money, but the more I made the more 
I wanted. I have plenty of property now but 
with values squeezed in a crash I can’t get the 
money to take up my notes. More than that, I 
have been double-crossed by people I thought 
were my friends, the very ones who put me next 
to this easy money. Steve Osborn and Sam 
Sparks were the leaders in the movement to sup¬ 
port the sagging boom and keep it going. We all 
felt that something had to be done to give us time 
to unload. We agreed to keep buying in order to 
bolster things up. What did they do ? They were 
actually unloading at the very time they were 
promising to get under the boom and help boost. 
I was fool enough to fall for it. Through their 
agents I was actually buying much of their in¬ 
flated property. They are now much nearer un¬ 
loaded than any of the others. And me? I’m in 
it up to my neck, loaded beyond reason with op¬ 
tions on property, criminal notes at the bank and 
no chance to raise a dollar before the crash comes. 
Can you see what your exposure means to me, my 
boy? I’ve got to have at least a little time or I 
am ruined.” 

“I’m afraid it is too late, Mr. Butler. I’m 
sorry, but the situation passed beyond my control 
some time ago. The break has been coming. 
Now it is here. What the Bugle will say in the 


ON THE EYE OF DISASTER 153 


morning will not necessarily precipitate the dis¬ 
aster nor avert it.” 

“If it could only be averted for even a week I 
feel sure I could find a way out,” pleaded the 
distracted man. 

“There is no stopping it. It’s here already,” 
stoutly replied Jim Brandon. “It was only due 
to the fact that the panic developed late in the 
afternoon that a run was not made on the Western 
Trust Company this afternoon. The early closing 
hour was all that saved them today. Mr. Butler, 
if you are as well acquainted with the affairs of 
the Company as you should be, you know that the 
institution is insolvent, that its funds have been 
systematically looted. The whole town does not 
know this for a certainty, but fears it nevertheless. 
I know this to be the true state of affairs. To¬ 
morrow’s paper will tell the whole story and the 
telling will not affect the situation one way or the 
other.” 

Butler’s condition was pitiful. 

“I’d rather commit suicide than have my family 
know what I have done. Do you realize that the 
penitentiary stares me in the face? Boy, I beg 
you not to make this exposure. Give me one more 
chance in life, for old time’s sake, for Marion’s 
sake, for the sake of all who will be dishonored 
if I fall.” 

Jim Brandon disliked this attitude more than 
words could express. He disliked Jonathan But¬ 
ler more than ever at this moment of groveling, 
because he was Marion’s father. 

“I can only repeat that the thing has gone too 
far. It is out of my hands. It is useless to talk 
to me now about help. I have warned you of what 
was coming but you were money-mad and would 
not listen.” 


154 


THE KANSAN 


“I am afraid you are right,’’ said Jonathan 
Butler, hopelessly. “The thing is done and it 
can’t be undone. I guess there is nothing more 
to be said.” 

“No, I think you are mistaken. It can in a 
measure be undone and there is more to be said. 
Giving up now will not help. You must brace up 
and meet the situation like a man. You must at¬ 
tempt such restitution as is in your power and 
when the worst comes, grin and bear it.” 

“Go to the penitentiary?” screamed the now 
hysterical man. “Never! I’ll end it all with a 
pistol shot before that time comes.” 

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Jim, 
steadily. “You are too big a coward for that. If 
you come out squarely now and show that you are 
a man, there may yet be a chance for you. But 
attempt to be crooked in this crisis, then mark my 
words, you’ll go the limit.” 

“Coward, am I?” flashed Jonathan Butler, 
stung for an instant into a semblance of his for¬ 
mer assurance. He reached out and grasped Jim 
by the collar. His anger increased. “I’ve put 
up with a good deal from you, Jim Brandon, after 
all I have done for you.” His voice rose higher 
and higher in his excitement. He shook the 
slender young man who offered no resistance. 
“To think that you, who have had a great hand 
in ruining me, should stand here and sneer in my 
face and call me a coward!” 

Jim tried to loosen Butler’s hold. “You forget 
that you have ruined yourself, Mr. Butler,” he 
said, quietly. 

“Ruined myself, have I?” he fairly shouted. 
“Who has hounded the Western Trust Company 
from its inception?” 

“I have,” said Jim Brandon, calmly. 


t ./J u 


ON THE EVE OF DISASTER 155 


“And why?” shouted Butler. 

“You know why, as well as any one. For such 
very acts as you have confessed this night; for 
the rascals who were behind it and who have now 
finished looting it, you with the rest of them on 
your own confession. Then talk of my ruining 
you!’’ 

With a sudden jerk Jim wrenched loose from 
Butler’s hold and the two stood threateningly, 
face to face in the moonlight. In the excitement 
neither had realized that their voices had been 
raised until suddenly a white figure came rushing 
toward them. It was Marion. Her eyes were 
dilated with terror at the sight as she beheld her 
father’s arm drawn back, his face livid with an¬ 
ger. At her approach, Jim’s head drooped. His 
collar was torn loose, his tie disarranged and his 
coat sleeve torn where he had wrenched free 
from Butler’s grasp. 

“Father! Jim! What does this mean? Tell 
me. What has happened?” 

Her gaze turned from one to the other. Jim 
realized his position thoroughly. He could not 
continue to denounce her father now. Jonathan 
Butler was first to speak. Pointing a shaking 
finger at the young newspaper man, he said: 

‘ 4 It means that he has succeeded in all but ruin¬ 
ing me and now insists on adding insult to injury 
by calling me a coward and sneering at my mis¬ 
fortune.” 

“Jim, is this true?” asked the girl in a half 
whisper. For once Jim Brandon was at a loss for 
words. Quick to realize his advantage, Butler 
said: 

“It is as I have told you all along. His hound¬ 
ing is finally bringing results. He has about suc¬ 
ceeded in wrecking our bank, our town and every- 


156 


THE KANSAN 


body in it, and now he assumes an air of superior¬ 
ity. It is easy to be calm when you have nothing 
at stake.’’ 

4 ‘Jim, why don’t you answer? Have you no 
defense?” 

Jim looked up, appealingly. “Marion, I have 
told you the situation already this evening. There 
is nothing more to say.” 

“This isn’t at all like you, Jim. You are 
usually outspoken. What is the real trouble to¬ 
night between you and father? Can’t you tell 
me? Shall I believe all that father says?” 

“Why shouldn’t you believe your father, my 
girl?” asked Butler, sternly, emboldened by the 
assurance that Jim had decided not to expose him. 
“He has hounded the Western Trust Company 
to ruin and most of us know why. It’s because he 
is a tool of Jason Hull, who owns him body and 
soul. Hull wants to see us downed but I hope 
that if we do go that we’ll all fall together, Hull’s 
bank along with ours.” 

Jim stepped close to the raving man and his 
eyes glittered dangerously. 

“Mr. Butler, don’t you think you have said 
more than enough? How much more do you think 
I can stand?” 

Marion mistook this attitude for one of plead¬ 
ing, of surrender. She clung to her father’s 
shoulder as she looked with growing suspicion 
upon her lover, for the first time in her life. The 
father, half crazed by fear and anxiety, deter¬ 
mined to continue with a bold front, confident 
that for the moment he held the upper hand and 
determined to hold his daughter’s respect to the 
last possible moment. 

“Yes, possibly you have had enough for one 
night,” he said, brusquely. “I think you had 


ON THE EYE OF DISASTER 157 


better be going. And by the way, I think yon had 
better never come back. I don’t think much of 
a serpent that bites one after having been warmed 
back to life.” 

‘ 4 Just what do you mean by that?” asked Jim, 
in tones such as neither had ever heard from him 
before. 

‘ 4 Exactly what I said. In other days I offered 
you a home. In later years you have had the 
hospitality of my home at all times. Think of 
how you have repaid my friendship!” He drew 
his daughter closer to him. “We feel that we 
have done more than enough and that it is time 
to call a halt. Go away. Stay away. Nothing 
would please us better.” 

“Marion, do you agree to all that?” asked Jim 
Brandon, his eyes steadily upon her ashen, grief- 
stricken face. 

“What can I say when you offer no defense. 
Why are you so silent under fire? What am I to 
think? What am I to do? Oh, Jim, Jim!” 

She swayed toward him but her father held her 
and she buried her head on her parent’s shoulder 
and sobbed convulsively. Jonathan Butler placed 
an arm around her and held her closely. With 
his free hand he pointed off across the lawn to 
the gate. 

“Go, you ingrate and do your worst. And as 
you go, think of this scene and of some of the 
misery you have caused.” 

“Marion!” Jim called. 

She lifted a tear-stained face. 

“Not another word,” snapped Butler. 

“Shall I go, Marion?” he pleaded. “I can de¬ 
fend myself if you desire it, but only for that 
reason, and even then with the greatest reluc¬ 
tance. ’ ’ 


158 


THE KANSAN 


He had decided to leave it all to her. If she in¬ 
sisted, he was goaded to make a clean breast of 
it all and take chances on the result. Marion, 
torn by doubts and fears, by conflicting emotions 
of love for the one and loyalty to the other, fear¬ 
ful of open conflict between them should the quar¬ 
rel continue, answered brokenly: 

“Yes, Jim, I think you had better go for the 
present.’ ’ 

The chance was gone. He was dismissed under 
suspicion. His head sank, his whole body relaxed. 

‘ ‘ Good night, ’’ he said, sadly, and turned away. 


CHAPTER XIV 


The Bubble Bursts 

Bright and early the following morning the 
Bison City bubble burst. It was an eventful day 
in the town’s history. For years afterward the 
mooted question was as to whether the Western 
Trust Company burst the boom or the collapse of 
the boom wrecked the Trust Company, or whether 
both the boom and the bank owed their downfall 
to the expose made by the Bison City Bugle. 
There was no question about the Bugle precipitat¬ 
ing the crisis. The paper had not been on the 
streets an hour that morning, before there was 
a run on the Western Trust Company and an 
equally wild crowd clamoring for money at Jason 
Hull’s bank. There was a wild panic among real 
estate speculators, a mad scramble to sell, to 
realize something out of the wreck, but there were 
no buyers. The bottom had fallen out of the 
market. The tumble was rapid, complete. Well- 
to-do citizens found themselves facing ruin, real¬ 
izing dumbly some idea of the plunge into which 
their mad era of speculation had placed them. 

Added to this was the certainty that both banks 
were in a precarious situation. Frightened citi¬ 
zens were shaken by the thought that their re¬ 
serves, the last of their fortunes in the way of 
deposits in the banks, were seriously threatened. 
All felt that the Western Trust Company would 
fail. There was the whole sordid story of its 
dishonor under glaring headlines and told with 

a minuteness of detail in the Bugle as Jim Bran- 

159 


160 


THE KANSAN 


don had promised. No one questioned the story. 
They knew it was true. Many of them had seen 
it coming for months but were loath to admit it. 
Now there was nothing but a mad scramble for 
their money, as frenzied a scene as the boom had 
produced during the wildest days when fortunes 
on paper were made over night. 

Long before the noon hour a long line of de¬ 
positors, anxious to withdraw their money, had 
formed in front of the imposing bank building 
of the Western Trust Company. The line extend¬ 
ed out into the street. The depositors grew rest¬ 
less as little progress was made. By every sub¬ 
terfuge known to banking, the officers of the bank 
delayed payment, argued over accounts, pleaded 
with customers, advising them to be prudent, 
urged them to be calm and not become stampeded, 
played desperately for time, determined to delay 
the final crash, hoping against hope that there 
would be some favorable turn, some loophole of 
escape, some way out without total failure, no 
matter how desperate the chance. 

The crowd was in no mood for trifling and as 
the hour for closing approached, there were 
threats and mutterings that foretold the approach¬ 
ing storm.- Merchant and stockman, cowboy and 
gambler, ranchman and laborer jostled each other 
in the mad rush to reach the paying teller’s win¬ 
dow. They fumed and cursed at the delay. Women 
of the town’s elect and denizens of the dance 
halls fought for a place of vantage in the line. 
Outside the building the crowd grew larger and 
more turbulent. 

Prompt to the second at the closing hour, a 
sign was posted on the plate glass of the front 
door, announcing that the bank would resume 
business the following morning and an attempt 


THE BUBBLE BURSTS 


161 


was made to clear the building. Then pande¬ 
monium broke loose. Some one on the outside 
sent a brick crashing through one of the front 
windows. Guns were drawn. Some one shouted: 
‘ ‘ Lynch the rascals! ’’ The palid-faced employees 
of the bank stood huddled behind the iron grill- 
work in the main business room, scared and 
trembling. 

Serious trouble would have resulted at that 
time had not Dave Fallon, the town’s new peace 
officer appeared on the scene. Unarmed he took 
his stand in front of the crowd and held up a 
hand, requesting silence. The mob knew him, 
feared him, and stopped to listen. 

“Friends, you are in trouble. I know all about 
it, but violence will not get you anywhere except 
into jail. This bank has stood the test today. 
Who can say that it will not do as well tomorrow? 
Wanton destruction of property will not get your 
money back. Neither will anything be gained by 
trying rough tactics with these bank employees. 
Most of them are no more responsible for the 
bank’s condition than you are. The people of 
this town have been crazy about long enough. It 
is time to try a little common sense. Clear out, 
now, and talk it over some place else. The fel¬ 
low who attempts to start any more rough stuff 
will have me to settle with.” 

This talk had a sobering effect and the crowd, 
still muttering but subdued, gradually dispersed. 
Trembling bank employees at once scurried from 
behind the railing and closed the doors and drew 
down the heavy blinds. 

Over at Jason Hull’s bank much the same 
scenes had been enacted, although the line of 
frenzied depositors was not so long nor the rush 
so great. But the bank had experienced a run 


162 


THE KANSAN 


and was having its troubles along with the rest. 
Congressman Hull, in response to Jim Brandon’s 
message, had arrived the night before, from Wash¬ 
ington. He went straight to his bank where he 
remained until it opened for business in the morn¬ 
ing. He had lost sleep but was alert and smiling, 
facing the crisis firmly. During the afternoon 
Jim Brandon paid the bank a visit and was at 
once called behind the railing. Jason Hull was 
busy directing the business, smiling, unruffled af¬ 
ter hours of nerve-racking strain, but found 
time for a word with Jim. 

‘ ‘ Sit down, lad, and watch the show. Boy, you 
sure have started something. We’ve had a day 
of it, sure’s your born, but I’m still loaded for ’em. 
I didn’t come back empty handed. That little 
satchel I carried was pretty well stuffed with the 
long green. Notice those sacks of gold coin over 
there in the window and those packets of cur¬ 
rency? Been there all day and we haven’t had to 
touch them despite the run. It is there for what 
they call the psychological effect and it helps. We 
are getting along fairly well, considering every¬ 
thing. ’ ’ 

“I guess the crash was bigger than anyone an¬ 
ticipated. I didn’t think things would go all to 
pieces like this,” said Jim. “The town is fairly 
wild. They tell me the dance halls will not open 
tonight. No one is in the mood for dancing. 
Gambling halls are idle, too. If that was all 
there was to it, we would be pretty well off. Only 
the saloons are running this afternoon. The 
town is flat broke. People have all stopped work. 
Some of the stores are closed. Everybody is out 
on the street looking for trouble. People are not 
any too friendly to me, but I am not to blame. 
Even if I was, I am not afraid. They will soon 




THE BUBBLE BURSTS 


163 


find out who caused it all, even if some people do 
doubt the Bugle’s expose this morning. 

“I’ve seen the paper,” said Jason Hull. “You 
didn’t overplay your hand much, but it certainly 
was not a homeopathic dose, to say the least. 
Like you, I am not at all scared, but it isn’t ex¬ 
actly pleasant. One thing sure, I’ll bet the 
Western Trust Company wishes right now that 
my bank had back on its lists a lot of the deposi¬ 
tors that have been wheedled away from us dur¬ 
ing the past few months. Depositors at a time 
like this when they all want their money, are more 
of a liability than otherwise. We will be able to 
take care of our own people, I think. I wonder 
how the other fellows will come out?” 

“They will not open for business tomorrow,” 
said Jim, positively. 

“Sure about that?” questioned his friend. 

“Yes, I have reliable information that they are 
nearly cleaned out by today’s run. It is all up 
with them. Those who didn’t get to the teller’s 
window today are out of luck. ’ ’ 

“Well, there will be one bank open tomorrow 
and even the day after that,” said Jason Hull in 
a firm tone as he turned to the window to talk to 
an excited customer. 

To show his good faith, he permitted the bank 
to remain open for a full half hour after the regu¬ 
lar closing time and was still smiling when he 
gave the order to close and assured those still 
in waiting that the bank would be ready for busi¬ 
ness promptly the next morning. The gold and 
huge piles of bills in the window still remained 
untouched. 

As evening came on and lights were lit, the 
crowds poured out into the streets, assembling in 
knots on street corners, jostling, desperate, thor- 


164 


THE KANSAN 


oughly mad. It had been an exciting, nerve- 
racking day. Fortunes were gone or going. 
Here and there an excited orator was addressing 
a group of citizens, discussing the situation and 
inflaming the excited throng. 

Later in the evening, down near the corner of 
the public square, the crowd grew dense and tur¬ 
bulent. A typical westerner, who had only the 
day before deposited his money with the Western 
Trust Company, had just returned to town and 
learned of the situation. Standing on a soap box, 
flourishing a revolver, he told of his troubles and 
of his determination to hunt up the bank officials 
and demand of them his money or their lives. The 
crowd cheered this sentiment lustily. 

Standing in the shadows, a sneer on his malev¬ 
olent face, Steve Osborn listened with the rest. 
As the orator concluded, the gambler elbowed his 
way to the center of the crowd, stepped up on 
the box and began speaking rapidly. 

“Men, you are fools to cheer that sort of hot 
air,” he sneered. 

4 ‘ Take him down! ’ ’ yelled a voice in the crowd. 

“You had better wait until I get through be¬ 
fore you start anything,” snapped Steve Osborn, 
hotly. “I’m not going to defend the bank. I 
will tell you where the trouble lies. You all know 
if you would stop to think. Who has been preach¬ 
ing calamity and disaster for the past year! Who 
has hounded the Western Trust Company until 
it is now in trouble and fighting for its life! Who 
has tried to close the saloons and dance halls and 
run everybody out of business in this town! You 
all know. It is Jim Brandon and his damned 
newspaper. That’s where the blame rests. Now 
isn’t that straight!” 

The harangue caught the fancy of the people, 



THE BUBBLE BURSTS 


165 


whose nerves were on edge. Steve Osborn could 
be very convincing when he tried. He was schem¬ 
ing in this crisis as he had never schemed before, 
but his hatred of Jim Brandon was so intense 
that his other plans could afford to wait while he 
poured out this poison upon the turbulent mob 
at the critical moment. 

“What’s the use of talking about mobbing 
bankers! They’re not to blame. Why not go af¬ 
ter the real source of the trouble! Shall we con¬ 
tinue to permit one man with his vile sheet to 
block every business enterprise in this town, 
checkmate prosperity and possibly ruin us all! 
Isn’t it about time to have an accounting with 
fhis young upstart and put him and his print shop 
out of business for good! Wouldn’t it be just 
what he has coming to him for all the trouble he 
has caused!” 

“You’re right!” yelled a voice in the crowd. 

“Sure I am right,” asserted Steve Osborn, his 
wicked eyes glistening from the reflection of the 
dim street light on the corner. “Clean him and 
his printing office out for good and give this town 
a chance to grow. Haven’t you had enough of 
him by now! You are all but ruined. Do you 
want to remain that way!” 

“No!” came in a sturdy shout from the mob. 

“Then go in and clean him up, now, this very 
night, while your blood is up. Give the town a 
chance to prosper as it did before he butted in. 
Are you men, or just pretty pink-eyed rabbits!” 
he taunted. 

The answer from the mob was a babble of 
voices and a surge up the street where lights still 
showed in the windows of the Bugle office. The 
crowd was by this time a howling mob, reckless, 
excited, seeking something upon which to vent its 


166 


THE KANSAN 


anger. Steve Osborn’s harangue had fired their 
passion. They did not think. Mobs never think. 
They are swayed by emotions, irresponsible, sav¬ 
age. Steve Osborn smiled craftily as he saw the 
mob move off up the street. 

His plans were progressing nicely. There was 
more work to be done. He slipped quietly out of 
sight and turned into a dark alley where his 
horse stood tied to a post. The animal was sad¬ 
dled and bridled, ready for the long trail. He 
mounted and rode quietly up the alley to the rear 
of the Western Trust Company building. Dis¬ 
mounting, he again tied the horse carefully. Then, 
with velvet tread, he walked to the side door of 
the bank where a light was still visible, and 
knocked lightly. The sound of the mob marching 
toward the Bugle office was sweet music to his 
ears and again he smiled craftily. 

There was a shuffling of chairs within the back 
room when Steve Osborn rapped. 

“Who’s there?” came in subdued tones from 
within. 

4 ‘It’s me, Steve Osborn, Sam. Open up and 
let me in. I’ve got some important things to say 
to you.” 

The door opened the least trifle and a scared 
face peered out. 

“Don’t be scared of that noise. It is a mob, 
but they are not coming here,” said Steve. “I 
know where they are going and they are headed 
all right. I know, for I started ’em. Let me in, 
quick. My business is important and I have no 
time to spare.” 

As he pushed his way through the door into 
the directors’ room, one glance showed him that 
the bank’s officials were in a panic. Their pallid 
faces and restless movements indicated plainly 



THE BUBBLE BUBSTS 


167 


the strain upon them. The run had depleted their 
scant funds. To open on the morrow meant ruin. 
To acknowledge insolvency meant equal disaster. 
They were cornered. There was apparently no 
relief in sight, no way out of the situation into 
which their rascality had placed them. Steve Os¬ 
born sized up the situation at a glance. He said, 
hastily: 

“You seem to be up against it, gentlemen. To¬ 
day has been bad enough but it was a picnic com¬ 
pared with what’s coming.” His small eyes 
blinked malevolently. “Banking is fine business 
in fair weather but when things get rough bank¬ 
ers always sweat blood. Anyway, you have my 
sympathy. But I didn’t come here to bother you 
nor to interfere with your deliberations. I have 
an important matter to talk over with Sam, here. 
You will excuse me, I know. It will require only 
a few minutes.” 

He bowed elaborately to the handful of scared 
officials seated around the long table, took Sam 
Sparks by the arm and stepped to the door of 
the bank’s private office which was connected 
with the vault. Both men entered the room quiet¬ 
ly. A dim coaloil light sputtered on the table. 

Sam Sparks turned quickly as he heard the 
key click in the lock of the door through which 
they had just entered. The sight he beheld 
frightened him so that his legs trembled. The 
transformation in Steve Osborn was startling. 
From the smiling, sympathetic gambler who had 
spoken to the directors, he was now cold as ice 
and his eyes glittered. His back was to the locked 
door. A drawn revolver was in his hand. He 
spoke in low, hissing tones. 

4 ‘ Open that vault door and do it quick, without 
any fuss. My time is limited. ” 


168 


THE KANSAN 


At this Sam Sparks’ face blanched. “For 
God’s sake, man, what do you mean?” he stam¬ 
mered. 

“Just what I said,” replied Steve Osborn, 
cold as ice. “Wasn’t it perfectly good English? 
Now get busy. I am in no mood for fooling.” 
He brought his revolver up to the level, its muzzle 
pointing squarely at the startled bank president. 

“But, Steve, what—.” He got no further. 

“Will you open that vault? Or would you pre¬ 
fer a tragedy? It’s up to you within the next 
ten seconds. Not another word. Act!” 

Sam Sparks turned and began to fumble with 
the combination. Steve Osborn stood over him, 
the muzzle of the gun pressed against the trem¬ 
bling man’s back. Great drops of cold perspi¬ 
ration formed on Sam Spark’s forehead as he 
worked. Presently the door swung open. 

“Step in and open the safe.” 

Again Sparks complied and the heavy doors 
opened. 

“Now hand me what money there is, all of it,” 
commanded the gambler. 

“Steve, have you lost your reason?” protested 
Sam Sparks in an awed whisper. 

“I’ve lost more than my reason through this 
damned institution and I am not going to lose 
any more. I’m at least going to take what little 
is left. Hand it over.” 

“But Steve, this is robbery.” 

1 ‘ Call it anything you like. I am not particular. 
You are a pretty bunch of crooks to be talking 
about robbery. It’s a case of the devil take the 
hindmost and I am not going to be any further 
behind than I can possibly help.” 

“There are only a few thousand dollars all 
told, Steve. We are practically cleaned out.” 


THE BUBBLE BURSTS 


169 


“They will be worth more in a lump to me 
than if scattered ont to a lot of crazy depositors.” 

Steve was stuffing the bills into his coat and 
the coin into a small sack as he talked. 

“That’s all of it,” said Sam Sparks, sorrow- 
f idly. 

“Nice showing for the town’s greatest finan¬ 
cial institution,” sneered Steve. 

“What are you going to do now that you’ve got 
it?” asked the dazed president. 

“I’m going to take it and clear out for good. 
I’ve got most of what we cleaned up out of Butler 
and with this added I can do pretty well in some 
new location. I’ve stayed in Bison City too long 
already. ’ ’ He was growing nervous and anxious 
to depart. 

“My God, man, do you realize what you are 
doing to us? To me, your old friend? What can 
I say to those men out there? What can we say 
to the people tomorrow?” 

“Tell ’em the truth if it isn’t too much against 
your principles. Tell ’em Steve Osborn beat ’em 
to it by holding you up at the point of a gun; that 
he robbed the Company of its last cent. I am 
willing to stand for it. All I want is the coin. I’ll 
risk the getaway. ’ ’ 

“But Steve, we have worked together a long 
time,” pleaded the banker. “Is this the way 
friends should treat each other? I was practi¬ 
cally ruined at closing time this afternoon. Think 
what this affair will mean to me. ’ ’ 

“There’s not much friendship in business,” 
snapped the gambler, getting ready to leave. 
“You know that. However, there’s the business 
I am leaving down the street. I’ve pretty well 
cleaned the place of finances, but I’ll turn the 
management over to you, now that I am going. 


170 


THE KANSAN 


There’s good business to be picked up there when 
this panic is over. I don’t think Brandon and 
his newspaper will bother any more after tonight. 
You haven’t made much of a success of banking. 
Take charge of my places and try the sure thing 
game, at least until you get word from me. I’m 
off now on the long trail. ” 

‘* Steve, don’t do this thing,” pleaded his friend. 

“Get out of my way,” snarled the gambler. 
Then another idea came to him. “Sam, where’s 
the bank’s note case? Where do they keep their 
notes?” 

“Over there,” said Sparks, dejectedly, point¬ 
ing to a compact little oak filing cabinet. This 
Steve Osborn grabbed. 

“My notes in here?” he hissed. 

“Sure. All the bank’s notes are filed there.” 

For a moment Steve Osborn fumbled clumsily 
with the papers in the dim light, then with a 
curse, turned and strode to the stove in the pri¬ 
vate office, opened the door and chucked the en¬ 
tire little cabinet in on the coals. In an instant 
the papers burst into flame and the gambler 
slammed the door shut. Sam Sparks had rushed 
forward with a startled cry. Instantly Steve’s 
gun was leveled at Sam’s breast as he hissed: 

“Shut up, you fool. Do you want to give the 
whole thing dead away?” 

“But all our notes, all the bank’s papers!” 
Sparks stammered, pointing to the stove. Steve 
Osborn grinned malevolently. 

“They’ll not be holding anything over me now, 
nor over anybody else, for that matter. I’ve 
probably helped some others by this, as well as 
myself. Why not make the smash complete, 
Sam?” he growled. “Tell them all about it after 


THE BUBBLE BURSTS 


171 


I am gone. Now brace up for the ordeal. We are 
going out.” 

“I can’t,” whimpered the now thoroughly un¬ 
nerved banker. “My God, Steve, how can I face 
them after this?” 

“Sam, you are yellow to the core. Brace up. 
I’m the one that will be blamed. Can’t you see 
that? You couldn’t help yourself. My horse is 
outside, saddled and ready for a good long ride. 
You don’t need to delay telling them very long. 
Just give me a chance to get into the saddle, and 
then you may break the news to them as gently 
as possible. ’ ’ He grabbed the ashen, shaking man 
by the arm. 

“Come on now. They’ll be wondering what’s 
keeping us so long.” 

Steve Osborn gently unlocked the door and 
taking Sparks by the arm, marched boldly into 
the other room. The panic-stricken crowd was 
still there, conversing in low tones. 

“Good night, gentlemen,” said the gambler, 
cheerfully. “Sam and I have settled our little 
affair quite satisfactorily. It took a little longer 
than we anticipated. I hope we haven’t inter¬ 
fered with your business to any great extent.” 

With the sack of gold coin snugly concealed be¬ 
neath his coat and with pockets bulging suspic¬ 
iously, he moved quietly to the door. 

“Good night, gentlemen. Good night, Sam. 
Pleasant dreams to all honorable gentlemen, es¬ 
pecially bankers.” 

With a mocking laugh he turned and was swal¬ 
lowed in the darkness. Soon the patter of a gal¬ 
loping horse was heard. Then, Sam Sparks, on 
the verge of a collapse, fell into a chair. His 
companions, nervous and shaken by the events of 
the day, huddled around him, fear on every face. 



172 THE KANSAN 

“We’re robbed. We’re ruined now for fair,” 
be gasped. 

“Robbed? What do you mean, Sam?” came 
in a chorus as they crowded nearer. 

“Steve Osborn has just held me up at the point 
of a gun, made me open the vault and safe and 
has robbed us of every last cent we possessed. 
That’s what he has done while you people sat here 
within thirty feet of him. And he has done more 
than that,” he cried. “He took the filing case 
containing all the bank’s notes and threw it in 
the stove.” 

He rocked backward and forward wildly and 
covered his face with his shaking hands. Had a 
bomb shell exploded in their midst the officials of 
the Western Trust Company would not have been 
more surprised. For a moment they were stun¬ 
ned at the audacity of the robber and failed to 
realize the full import of Sam Sparks’ revela¬ 
tion. Then gradually the realization dawned up¬ 
on them. This, then, was the end. The Western 
Trust Company was down and out. 

“How do we know that you were not in league 
with him?” sharply demanded one of the crowd. 

“I expected that question. Search me. I’ve 
got nothing, and bear in mind that although I 
could have kept this affair secret until tomorrow, 
I told you as quickly as I was out from under that 
gun. I’ve had enough excitement for one day. 
If you fellows want Steve Osborn, go and get 
him. He will tell you the truth, the same as I 
have. I’ve done all I could and told you all I 
know about it. It is now up to you fellows. I am 
going home. There is nothing more to be done 
unless you want to put some one on Steve’s trail. 
The sooner that’s done, the better. As for me, 
I’m beaten, down and out, ruined with the rest 


THE BUBBLE BURSTS 


173 


of you. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow 
and I don’t much care now. Good night. ’’ 

The crowd followed him out, too stunned to 
know what to do. Their beautiful bubble had 
burst. All the rainbow tints were now dissolved 
into thin air. 


CHAPTER XV 
The Assault 


Jim Brandon sat alone in his newspaper office, 
thinking over the events of the day. He was sur¬ 
prised at the completeness of the boom’s collapse. 
He had not seen Jonathan Butler since early in 
the morning. He wondered how the leader of 
the boom wrns taking his defeat and what would 
be the final outcome for his former friend and 
benefactor. He felt genuine sorrow for the op¬ 
timistic boomer and sincerely hoped that fortune 
might be kind to him. He wondered how Marion 
viewed things now that the truth must be known 
to her. He longed to be with her, to comfort her 
and to once more offer some defense of his ac¬ 
tions, now that her knowledge was more definite. 
Finally he reached the decision that he must see 
her that very night, in spite of her attitude when 
they parted and of the curt dismissal at the hands 
of her father. The situation was different now. 
Possibly she needed him as never before. The 
thought appealed to him. He would go. 

Suddenly he became aware of a queer, scraping 
noise at the back door of his printing office. He 
listened intently. Again he heard the sound, this 
time a distinct rapping. He arose from his desk, 
walked the length of the room to the rear door and 
unbolted it. In rushed George Washington Bean, 
breathless,, his eyes rolling wildly, his straw- 
colored hair on end. 

“ Quick, Jim, put out that light and listen to 
me,” he gasped. “You are in great danger. It’s 

174 


THE ASSAULT 175 

the mob. They’re after you. They’re coming, 
I tell you! ’ ’ 

Jim looked at him an instant, then laughed 
heartily. 

‘ 4 George, you are like all the rest. The panic 
is playing pranks with your nerves. I didn’t think 
it of you. ’ ’ 

“Nerves, hell!” snorted his friend. 4 ‘I’ve seen 
the mob not ten minutes ago. They are crazy over 
their losses, I tell you, and they intend to mob 
you and wreck this shop. You’ve got to beat it 
and that at once. Listen to me! Put out that 
light and let’s make our getaway.” 

“I’ll do nothing of the sort. I’ve nothing to 
run away from. I am going down to Mr. Butler’s 
to see Marion. I was just starting when I heard 
your knock. ’ ’ 

“Don’t attempt any such foolishness,” said 
Bean, huskily. “It will be the death of you. I 
know. I’ve heard Steve Osborn work the crowd 
up to a fine frenzy. They are desperate and ready 
for any violence. I didn’t want to excite any 
suspicion. That’s why I sneaked in the back way 
to warn you. No doubt there are pickets on watch 
out in front right now. It is really serious, Jim. 
The crowd was getting larger and wilder every 
minute when I left. They will soon be here and 
then there will be a rough house right! ’ ’ 

Again Jim Brandon laughed fearlessly, put on 
his hat and started for the front door. 

“I’m going to see Marion this very night, mob 
or no mob. I am not afraid of that bunch. How¬ 
ever, they might be brave enough to destroy prop¬ 
erty if there was no one around. If you care to, 
you can stay here and look after things until I 
get back. I won’t be gone long.” 


176 


THE KANSAN 


George Washington Bean jumped to restrain 
his friend as he opened the front door. 

44 Not that way, Jim, it’s certain death,” he 
warned. 

But Jim Brandon was out on the street and 
hurrying down the sidewalk before the surprised 
Mr. Bean could reach him. 

4 ‘He’s gone, plum gone to his death,” gasped 
Bean as he leaned helplessly against the door. 
44 He asked me to stick around here and try to 
save his property. He won’t have much use for 
a printing office if he meets that mob. He’s plum 
fool enough to walk right into ’em just to show 
’em they haven’t got his goat. Well, I am afraid 
they will get it this time. ’ ’ 

Jim Brandon had been gone but a few minutes 
when the old scout, Dave Fallon, arrived at the 
Bugle office, greatly excited. 

“Open up, Jim, and let me in quick, there’s 
trouble on foot.” He bolted squarely into the 
shop and faced the stammering Mr. Bean, whose 
head wobbled wildly, his Adams apple jerking 
convulsively. 

“Jim’s gone, I couldn’t hold him,” was all he 
was able to say. 

“Not here! Gone? Where?” snapped the new 
city marshal. 

“Butler’s, he said,” replied Bean, equally brief. 

44 Then God help him,’’ said the old scout. “I’m 
too late. I just got word of the mob’s intentions. 
I can hear their clamor down the street. They’ve 
probably got him, the crazy fools.” He turned 
and ran down the street. 

Jim really had no fears of the mob. He had 
failed to realize their temper and their exaspera¬ 
tion and that Steve Osborn had fanned their pas¬ 
sions to a flame. His thoughts were of other 


THE ASSAULT 


177 


things as he walked briskly down the street. He 
did not notice that the streets seemed deserted 
for such an early hour in the evening. He had 
gone a block or more when a strange, humming 
sound startled him from his reverie. It was a 
sound that, once heard, will never be forgotten. 
It was the voice of the mob. The sound grew 
nearer, louder. Suddenly the crowd came into 
view. Some carried torches, others were well 
armed, all were crazed with excitement and hatred. 
The street was filled with the shouting, gesticu¬ 
lating, rabid horde. 

Eor a moment Jim hesitated. The idea of 
flight was not even considered. He pulled his hat 
low over his eyes, lowered his head and kept to 
his course along the edge of the sidewalk, squarely 
into the rabble. For an instant only, he had hope 
that possibly he would be able to pass through 
the crowd, unnoticed in the rush and excitement. 
But it was only for a moment. Some one in the 
crowd recognized his slender, well-built form. 

‘ 4 There he is, now/’ shrieked a shrill voice. 
Others were quick to recognize him also and he 
was soon surrounded by the wild-eyed mob. 

‘‘Kill the town-buster,” yelled a voice. 

“ Bring a rope!” 

4 ‘ Let me get at him! ’ 9 

Jim Brandon, his back to the fence, his face 
white, his eyes blazing, was heard above the roar. 

“Who wants to get at me? What are you peo¬ 
ple trying to do? Are you still out of your 
senses?” 

“We’ll show you,” came the answer as the 
blow from a savage fist landed on his face and 
brought blood. 

He whirled and with a quick punch sent his 
assailant staggering into the arms of his com- 


178 


THE KANSAN 


panions. The sight of the blood streaming down 
Jim Brandon’s cheek, added fuel to the fire.. He 
was showered with blows. He struck out blindly 
but the mob pressed closer. His clothing was 
torn to shreds as the crowds clutched at him but 
valiantly he kept his feet and stubbornly fought 
the unequal battle. Suddenly some one from be¬ 
hind crashed a club across his head and he sank 
slowly to the earth. The voice of the crowd 
sounded far away and indistinct. A red mist 
swam before his eyes. Then darkness and obliv¬ 
ion. 

A cheer went up from the crowd. Their work 
had begun. The man was down. The helpless 
body was being trampled upon by those nearest, 
while those further away jeered. Suddenly there 
w r as a commotion in the outskirts of the crowd. 
Some one was pushing his way violently forward 
into the midst of the turbulent mass. And seeing 
the advancing form, the crowd gave way. It was 
Dave Fallon, the new marshal, known and re¬ 
spected for his iron courage. He was in a tower¬ 
ing rage as he pushed the crowd back. His mouth 
worked convulsively, his eyes glared. He was 
armed. His revolver was at his side in his right 
hand as he worked his way toward his fallen 
friend. He had boasted that he could maintain 
order in Bison City without the aid of a six- 
shooter and the crowd was quick to observe the 
change. 

‘ 4 Stand back. Make way there. Out of the 
road, you hounds/’ he panted, as he neared the 
prostrate form. 

His gun was now on the level with the crowd. 
His courage and marksmanship were known of 
all men on the border. No one questioned that 



THE ASSAULT 179 

he would shoot to kill if disobeyed. The crowd 
gave way. 

‘ ‘ The first one that touches that boy again will 
pay for it with his life. Stand back.” His eyes 
watched the crowd warily. ‘ i What do you want 
to do? Add murder to your craziness? It looks 
as if you may have done that even now.” He 
reached the huddled, bleeding form of Jim Bran¬ 
don. The crowd began sneaking away. 

“ Clear out, you yellow dogs, before I open up 
on you/’ said the scout as he bent over the body 
of his friend. 

The mob had met its master in the person of 
the nervy old plainsman and, foiled of its prey, 
moved rapidly on up the street toward the Bugle 
office, leaving Dave Fallon alone with the bruised 
and broken body. 

Fallon raised the helpless form in his arms and 
carried it inside the adjacent yard and deposited 
it gently on the grass beneath a friendly cotton¬ 
wood tree. He placed his ear to the young man’s 
chest. The heart was beating faintly. He still 
lived. The old scout breathed a sigh of relief. 
While there was life there was hope. 

Meanwhile, at the Butler home, a family con¬ 
ference was in progress. Worn out by the buffet- 
ings of the day, shaken by the menace of the dis¬ 
covery of his illegal deals with the Trust Com¬ 
pany, Jonathan Butler wandered home early in 
the evening, broken in spirit, determined to tell 
the story of his shame, that the family might be 
prepared for the worst. With his wife and 
daughter beside him he told the sordid story, not 
shielding himself in the least. It w^as too late 
now for subterfuge. 

He said: “I must tell you both tonight that I 
am a ruined man. Possibly something can be 


180 


THE KANSAN 


saved from the wreck, as I still have considerable 
property even if the values have been smashed. 
If the property is held it may in time be worth 
something. Bad as this is, it is not the worst. 
As a director of the Trust Company I have been 
a heavy borrower, much heavier than the law. al¬ 
lows. The Company is insolvent. The appoint¬ 
ment of a receiver will follow and there will be 
a searching and complete audit. Discovery of 
my culpability is certain.. I am worse than 
ruined. I must face criminal charges and im¬ 
prisonment. ’ ’ 

At this announcement Mrs. Butler burst into 
tears. Marion’s eyes dilated with horror but 
were dry. Her face was like marble. 

“Did Jim know of this last night?” she ques¬ 
tioned, sternly. 

“Possibly he did. Why?” 

“Was that why he hesitated and acted so un¬ 
like himself? Was he shielding you?” 

Much as he was willing to own of his own cul¬ 
pability, Jonathan Butler could not forgive Jim 
Brandon for the part he had taken in the crisis. 
He still clung stubbornly to the delusion that 
without Jim’s interference the trouble might have 
been averted, at least until he would have had a 
chance to retrieve his fortune and square his ac¬ 
count with the Trust Company. 

“Shielding me? Girl, can’t you see that he has 
ruined me and brought disgrace on all of us?” 

“No, father, I cannot see all of that,” she said, 
sternly. “You are the one that has brought the 
disgrace. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Surely you can see that all I lacked was time. 
The money I borrowed is not entered on the 
books at the bank. They favored me with these 
excess loans and I could have paid out. So far 


THE ASSAULT 


181 


as the books are concerned, I am not an embezzler. 
But my notes are there. Of course they were 
taking chances. In fact they urged me to go in 
deeper. They made the way easy. True, I was a 
fool for taking such desperate chances but I 
thought that where there was a way in, there 
must be a way out. The crash caught me unpre¬ 
pared. Now I am in for it.” 

“I know you blame Jim, and I’ll admit that 
his actions last night puzzled me. I have trusted 
him so thoroughly and he has always been frank 
and open until last night. I can’t forget that 
scene. I still want to trust him. Father I love 
him as I love you. Can it be that the two men I 
love most have both gone astray?” 

“I am willing to accept my share of censure,” 
said Jonathan Butler, obstinately. “I have done 
wrong. I expect to pay the penalty. To my 
mind, Jim Brandon has done wrong, also, not 
only to me but to hundreds of others. But if all 
reports are true that I heard as I came home to¬ 
night, Jim Brandon has also doubtless paid the 
penalty for his acts by this time. ’ ’ 

“Father, what do you mean!” asked the fright¬ 
ened girl. 

“I heard rumors that a mob was forming down 
town to wreck the Bugle office and Jim with it, if 
he got in the way. This town has had about all 
of his kind of journalism it can well stand.” 

Marion sprang to her feet, her hands clenched, 
face blanched. 

“The people threaten to mob Jim, you say? I 
must go at once!” 

“Where?” 

“To warn him, if there is still time. To help 
him in case he has been attacked.” 

Jonathan Butler arose hastily to detain her, 


182 


THE KANSAN 


but she acted with lightning rapidity and was 
running up the street as he reached the door. 

“Marion!” he called feebly, but if she heard 
him, she did not heed. He turned helplessly to 
his weeping wife who assisted him to a chair, 
where with heads bowed their tears mingled. 
Jonathan Butler was learning the costly lesson 
that the way of the transgressor is hard. 

Marion rushed up the street and as she neared 
the scene of the assault she encountered Dave 
Fallon, who, after placing Jim’s body on the lawn, 
had started to seek help. 

“Mr. Fallon, have you seen Jim Brandon this 
evening?” she gasped. 

“Yes, I’ve seen what’s left of him,” replied 
the old scout, tersely. 

“Have they injured him? I have just heard 
that he was threatened. Where is he?” 

“Are you brave, girl? Can you stand a shock?” 

“Oh, yes. I must go to him.” 

“Follow me, then,” said Dave Fallon, grimly, 
leading the way to the battered form beneath the 
tree. 

At first Marion did not recognize the bruised 
body, the tattered garments. Then, with a sob 
she sank beside Jim. 

“Dear Jim,” she sobbed. “To think that they 
would dare to do a thing like this. They must 
be mad.”. She shivered as she placed her hand 
beneath his head. 

“Mr. Fallon, is he dead?” she asked in an 
awed whisper. 

“No, I think not, but he has had a pretty close 
call. I was just going for help when I met you. 
We must get him to the hospital as soon as possi¬ 
ble. Will you remain with him until I return with 
some one to help me?” 



THE ASSAULT 


183 


“Gladly,’’ said Marion, simply, as she lifted 
the bruised head to her lap and brushed back the 
clotted hair from his white forehead. 

“I’ll not be gone long,” assured Fallon as he 
hurried away. “I’ll try the Bugle office first. 
Some of the boys may be there yet and I can 
bring them promptly. ’ ’ 

Marion noticed that Jim Brandon was still 
bleeding profusely from the wound on his head. 
As Fallon ran up the street she hurriedly tore 
strips from her underskirt and commenced to 
apply bandages and render such aid as she could 
to the stricken youth. 

“Poor Jim. Dear boy,” she whispered as she 
worked. “My faith in you may have wavered but 
I know you did not deserve this. The cowards!” 

As Dave Fallon neared the Bugle office he was 
astonished at the sight it presented. He had for¬ 
gotten that the mob had preceded him. The riot¬ 
ers had evidently done their work quickly and 
completely and then dispersed. No one was in 
sight. Every window light in the front of the 
building was shattered. Inside, he found the of¬ 
fice a total wreck. As he turned to go, his quick 
eye caught a slight movement from a bundled 
object on the floor. There was also a faint, 
thumping noise. He struck a match and by it’s 
glare recognized the figure on the floor. It was 
George Washington Bean, gagged and bound, 
trussed as neatly as a turkey for the oven. 

It was the work of but a moment for the mar¬ 
shal to cut the bonds, remove the gag and help 
the startled prisoner to his feet. 

‘‘Sufferin’ cats!’’ Bean stammered. “I’m glad 
you showed up. I’ve sure had one hell of a time.” 

He shook himself to make sure that he was all 


184 THE KANSAN 

right, shot his cuffs, adjusted his tie and turned 
to Dave Fallon. 

“What’s next on the program, Sherlock 
Holmes? I’m ready.” 

“Who did this?” asked the marshal, pointing 
to the wrecked office. 

“The same philanthropists that put the hob¬ 
bles on me, damn ’em. It’s all the work of the 
mob. Jim left me here to guard the shop and I 
have made a nice mess of it. What show has one 
man against a gang of escaped lunatics like that? 
By the way, have you heard from Jim?” 

“Yes, I’ve heard from him,” said the marshal, 
sadly. 

“They got him, did they? The cowards. I 
knew they would do it. I know every one of ’em. 
They wore no masks. If they have killed Jim 
Brandon I’ll see that every mother’s son of them 
hangs for it even if I have to do the job myself.” 

“Jim isn’t dead, but he is badly hurt. I was 
on the hunt for some one to help me to get him 
to the hospital. Are you all right and able to 
help?” 

“Sure I am able. I am a regular old pack 
horse. We’ll rig up some sort of a stretcher and 
get him to the hospital in a jiffy. Where is he?” 

“Laid out on a lawn down the street. Marion 
is with him.” 

“Sufferin’ cats! How did she get in on this 
thing?” queried Bean, as they hastened down the 
street. 

“I’m sure I don’t know. She was passing in 
a rush when she saw me and asked about Jim. I 
thought she might come in handy and told her 
what had happened. ’ ’ 

After much effort and a tedious journey the 
friends finally delivered the unconscious form of 


THE ASSAULT 


185 


Jim Brandon to competent hands at the hospital. 
The three waited anxiously outside the room 
where the surgeon worked and white-capped 
nurses went about, noiseless but efficient. Mo¬ 
tioning Bean to a corner, Marion said to him: 

“ George, if he recovers, will you do me a 
favor?” 

“Sure I will.” 

“It’s only this: Don’t tell him about my part 
in tonight’s affair. I haven’t done much anyway, 
but I did what I could. Will you promiser’ 

“I don’t get the drift, somehow, but I never 
refuse a lady anything,” said the gallant Mr. 
Bean. 

“Never mind, George. We were all old school 
friends, and I have my reasons. I may tell you 
some time, but not now.” 

The surgeon finally appeared at the door of 
the operating room, peered out, then came to the 
anxious group. 

“Will he live?” tremblingly asked Marion. 

“We hope so,” said the surgeon, assuringly. 
“He has had a pretty rough handling. It is the 
blow on the head that worries us. He would re¬ 
cover from the other wounds quite easily. But 
that smash on the head is rather serious. So far 
as we have been able to discover, there is no 
fracture of the skull. If he is really free from 
that, he will probably recover. Even at best he 
is in for quite a hard fight. It will be some time 
before he will be up and around again. You see, 
he is still unconscious and will probably remain 
in that condition for a time. But,” he added, 
cheerfully, “he is young and full of vitality and 
has led a clean, wholesome life, so we have every 
reason to hope that he will pull through.” 

“That’s the only bit of good news I’ve heard 


186 THE KANSAN 

this whole day,” said George Washington Bean, 
quite soberly. 

“Then you feel sure that he has a fighting 
chance?” asked Marion. 

“We certainly think just that,” said the smil¬ 
ing surgeon. 

“Thank God,” said Marion, her hands clasped. 
“Amen,” said Dave Fallon, lifting his som¬ 
brero from his long, dark locks, now tinged with 
gray. 


CHAPTER XVI 
A Woman’s Way 


The following day the town awoke to some 
realization of the folly of the mad debauch of the 
previous night. News of Steve Osborn’s crime 
and flight spread rapidly. A large crowd still re¬ 
mained around the Western Trust Company 
building, but the people were there mostly from 
curiosity. All now knew that the failure was 
complete, that the sign posted on the front door 
announcing the appointment of a receiver, meant 
nothing to creditors. There was nothing left. 
The mob the night before had heard of what had 
happened and had paid its respects to the Trust 
building along with the Bugle office. Windows 
and doors were shattered, furniture smashed, 
marble fixtures broken and the floors strewn with 
scattered papers, broken glass and plaster from 
the walls. 

The news soon spread that Jim Brandon was 
at the hospital and in a serious condition. Partial 
reason had returned to the rioters, with the broad 
light of day, and many words of sympathy for 
the Bugle editor were heard. The passionate, 
cowardly work of the night before now stood 
forth in its true light. The spirit of the mob is 
always fickle. Many now realized that but for 
Dave Fallon’s courageous stand, murder would 
doubtless have been added to the other crimes of 
that night. A strong undercurrent was now evi¬ 
dent in Jim Brandon’s favor and against Steve 
Osborn, Sam Sparks and others, who were recog- 


188 


THE KANSAN 


nized as the real wreckers of the Trust Company. 
Added to the story of Osborn’s robbery and 
flight were verifications of the Bugle’s story of 
huge defalcations, beside which the robber’s 
grasping of what little funds remained, was a 
mere trifle. 

The offices of Jonathan Butler, in the rear of 
the Trust building, had escaped the ravages of 
the mob, but on this morning the doors were not 
open and the curtains were tightly drawn. In¬ 
side, away from the chattering crowd on the street, 
Jonathan Butler and Sam Sparks were having an 
earnest conference. Both men were dejected and 
hollow-eyed with extreme weariness and worry. 

“I can see now, that we went too far,” Jona¬ 
than Butler exclaimed in a hopeless voice. “I 
suppose you will wriggle out some way, Sam; and 
Steve was smart enough to give us both the slip. 
I would give everything I possessed to be out of 
this thing. It is the first time in my life that I’ve 
been square up against the law with no way of 
escape. We all must have been stark, staring 
mad.” 

“It seems to have been a case of dog eat dog. 
I’ll not come out with much more than a whole 
hide even with the best of luck,” replied Sparks. 

“The Trust Company will surely have some 
assets that can be realized on in time,” said 
Butler. “There were some good notes and the 
receiver should eventually save something from 
the wreck.” 

“Yes, there ivere some good notes,” said 
Sparks, meaningly. “Also there were a few pack¬ 
ages of currency and a sack or two of coin be¬ 
fore Steve Osborn played his final card. ’ ’ 

Jonathan Butler sat bolt upright, keen anxiety 
showing in every movement. 


A WOMAN’S WAY 


189 


‘ ‘ I don’t exactly understand you, Sam. ’’ 

“No? Haven’t I told you? Haven’t you 
heard the whole story on the streets? Well, Steve 
Osborn did you and several others at least one 
final act of grace, no matter whether intentional 
or not.” 

“Out with it, man.” Jonathan Butler was 
trembling with excitement. ‘ ‘ What did Steve do ? 
Tell me! ’ ’ 

“Well, you see, Steve didn’t know much about 
the affairs of the company. He didn’t know that 
your notes were not recorded on the hooks.” 
Sparks was rather enjoying Butler ’s anxiety. 

“Go on,” urged Butler, hoarsely. 

“Steve also had some obligations in the way 
of notes, and before he left he called for the lit¬ 
tle oak case in which we kept our notes, fumbled 
with it for a moment, trying to find his own notes. 
Then, in his haste, he turned and—” Sparks 
paused purposely. 

“Please go on,” said Butler, moistening his 
parched lips. 

“—and then he shoved the whole file of notes, 
case and all, into the office stove and burned them 
up.” 

“All of them?” 

“Every one, yours included, so there is no re¬ 
cord against you in this bank, save that shown 
on the books, which is legal enough to satisfy the 
most critical.” 

The effect upon Jonathan Butler was electrical. 
He sprang from his chair, his eyes shining, his 
shoulders erect as though a great weight had been 
lifted from him. 

“Sam, you’re telling me the God’s truth? You 
are not stringing me just to see how hard I’ll 
drop?” 


190 


THE KANSAN 


“I’ve told you the truth as I have told it to all 
who asked me. The people out there know that 
the notes were destroyed. I’ve simply told what 
happened, as frankly as I told the officers of the 
Company last night just as soon as I was out 
from under Steve’s gun. Of course I could go 
into court w T ith some statements of the Company’s 
transactions that might make things exceedingly 
interesting for all parties concerned, myself, in¬ 
cluded, but I am not going to do any such thing. 
Besides, it would simply be my word against the 
other fellow’s, as the Trust Company’s books are 
the only records available.” 

“But people can’t help knowing there was 
crooked work somewhere,” argued Butler. 

“Let them think so. What of it? There’s a 
shortage all right. We can’t hide that. But who 
knows how much money Steve Osborn took when 
he robbed us? I don’t even know, myself. Even 
if Steve is caught and made to disgorge, who will 
know that the money recovered is all that Steve 
got? In his cupidity, Steve did a rather fine turn 
for several people. I don’t know what they would 
have done without him.” 

Jonathan Butler reached for his hat and started 
to leave. 

“I am going now and I am going right out at 
the front door. That’s the tightest squeak I ever 
had and I hope it will prove a warning to me for 
life. I drifted into that snare easily, a little at a 
time, until I found myself facing the open door 
of the penitentiary. If I am really out of this 
affair, it’s ‘Never again!’ for me.” 

He shuddered as he thought of the peril he had 
escaped, then, his old confidence returning, he 
lighted a cigar, opened his office door and walked 
boldly through the crowds, shoulders squared, 


A WOMAN’S WAY 


191 


head erect, bowing right and left with all the con¬ 
fidence of former days. 

He went directly to his home, to his wife and 
daughter who were hourly expecting word of his 
arrest and possible imprisonment. His heels 
clicked hard against the sidewalk as he turned 
into the gate at his home. Wife and daughter had 
seen him coming, had noted the change in his man¬ 
ner, and met him at the door. 

“Saved!” he boomed, as he placed an arm 
about each woman and pushed his way into the 
front parlor. 

“What has happened, father,” asked Marion. 

“Yes, tell us,” pleaded the distracted wife. 

“By the biggest chance in the world I’ve side¬ 
stepped disaster, that’s all. It seems too good to 
be true. Last night when Steve Osborn robbed 
the bank, he also took the note case and jammed it 
in the stove. All evidence of my misconduct went 
up in smoke. ’ ’ 

For a moment no one said a word. 

“Father, this does not release you from respon¬ 
sibility. You really took that money, didn’t you ? ’ ’ 
said Marion. 

“Certainly I took it. In a moment of madness 
I did wrong. I have already admitted that. But 
the evidence is now destroyed. They can’t prove 
anything. Now that I am out from under that 
load, I am free to go ahead and save something 
from the wreck.” His old optimism was return¬ 
ing. “Can’t you see, daughter, that I am now 
free? I’ll get to work at once and save what I 
can. Things will change for the better. I’ll hang 
on to what I have and we ’ll all be happy yet, you 
bet! Isn’t that the big idea?” 

His daughter stood in front of him, his wife at 
his side. Marion was pale, her large eyes burn- 


192 


THE KANSAN 


ing as she reached up and caught the lapels of his 
coat and gazed squarely into his face. 

“No, father, that isn’t a big idea. It isn’t even 
an honest one. If that is all there is to your plans 
I would be ashamed to ever look you in the face 
again. ’ ’ 

“Wjhat now, Marion?” he asked, very gently. 

11 Simply this. I can acknowledge that you have 
done wrong and still love you. I might even con¬ 
fess to a feeling of thankfulness in case you es¬ 
cape imprisonment, under certain conditions. But 
if you have done wrong and escape punishment 
under some technicality and then go on with no 
attempt to make restitution so far as lies in your 
power to those you have wronged, and while hold¬ 
ing up your head among honest people, continue 
to plan for your own selfish advancement, then I 
would prefer to see the prison doors open for you 
even though it broke my heart. ’ ’ 

She clung to him appealingly, her head against 
his breast. 

“Mother, help me make him see this in its true 
light,” she sobbed. “Haven’t I told the situation 
fairly ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, you have,” said the mother, firmly. 
“Jonathan, there must be restitution, come what 
may. I’d rather starve than to roll in the luxury 
of unclean money. Our child is right. ’ ’ 

The strong man bowed his head. It was a try¬ 
ing moment after all he had been through. The 
future looked none too bright even as he had 
planned. Yet the pleadings of the women of his 
household appealed to him. There was honor 
enough left in him to enable him to see the justice 
of their claims. He had this day resolved that 
never again would he tread the paths that had led 
him so close to dishonor. Yet here was a situation 


A WOMAN’S WAY 


193 


demanding the renunciation of what little wealth 
he still possessed, of the very foundation upon 
which he hoped to build for a better, larger life. 
Finally he raised his head and placed a hand 
caressingly on Marion’s head. 

“Tell me what you propose,” he said. 

“There is but one thing to do and that is the 
fair thing. Admit not only what the books show 
your indebtedness to be to the bank, but confess 
frankly that there was more than that. Be honest 
and fair and accept whatever comes. Not only 
offer to make restitution now, so far as it is in 
your power, by turning all your property of 
whatever nature, to the Western Trust Company, 
but promise likewise to assume responsibility for 
every cent you have taken, down to the last penny 
and promise to repay it at some time in the fu¬ 
ture if you are ever able to do so. JUo not evade 
or misrepresent. Then people will respect you, 
will have confidence in you and if you stand firm 
they w r ill in time honor you for having met the 
issue like a man.” 

“Daughter, your terms are heart-breaking,” 
soberly replied the shaken parent. 

“Not so heart-breaking as a life of ease ob¬ 
tained from money that rightfully belonged to the 
depositors of the Western Trust Company, people 
who lost their funds through no dishonor on their 
part, but rather by trusting to the honor of others 
—who failed to live up to the trust.” 

She was driving her arguments home, breath¬ 
lessly. There must be no time for shifting or 
evading. 

“And if I confess and turn everything over to 
my creditors, leaving you two penniless, what 
then?” he persisted. “What if even this is not 


194 THE KANSAN 

sufficient and they see fit to prosecute and con¬ 
vict me?” 

“I can see but one thing to do—the honest 
thing. Admit the truth and take what comes. 
Evading the issue will present an intolerable con¬ 
dition. Mother and I will gladly take the chances, 
will stand by you come what may, if you are will¬ 
ing to make the sacrifice that honesty demands. ” 

“It is hard to do after I have just seen the light 
of freedom, but I’ll do it,” he finally exclaimed. 
“I know you are right, but I lacked your moral 
courage. There is only one way to commence 
honestly now and that is to begin at the bottom. 
I’ll take the prison chance if it comes. I’ll make 
a clean breast of all my dealings. I’ll turn over 
every bit of property I own and throw myself on 
their mercy. The sooner it’s over, the better. I’ll 
report to the directors who are in session this 
morning. It’s worth something to make a right 
start for once in my life even if it leads to the 
penitentiary at Lansing.” 

Both women were sobbing now, and embracing 
him with mingled emotions of sorrow and joy. 
Marion placed an arm around his neck, and draw¬ 
ing his great face close to hers, kissed him 
proudly. 

“Father, I love you more right now than ever 
before in all my life. All men are liable to yield 
to temptation. I know how greatly you were 
tempted. But the truest man in all the world is 
not the one who has not been tempted and there¬ 
fore has not fallen, but rather the one who, having 
fallen, has the moral courage to face the world 
fairly and attempt to make good. That is the 
truest test, the one that brings out the heart of 
gold. I am proud of you. Others will be the 
same. You’ll see.” 


A WOMAN’S WAY 


195 


“Yes, I see right now, so far as that is con¬ 
cerned. I have known what was the right thing 
to do all the time but didn’t have the nerve to do 
it. You have given me the courage I needed. I 
will go right hack to the bank and take the plunge 
while my nerve is up, otherwise I might not have 
the courage to face it. ’ ’ 

As Jonathan Butler returned the caresses of 
his wife and daughter, his eyes were moist and 
there was a lump in his throat, but with the new 
resolve upon him and holding steadfast, he walked 
firmly up the street to the offices of the Western 
Trust Company. With no attempt to shield him¬ 
self nor to shift the responsibility to others, he 
frankly and freely confessed his guilt and offered 
such restitution as his limited means permitted, 
down to the last cent. 

It was a bitter experience hut he felt better 
when it was over. It had remained for a woman, 
his daughter, to lead him into the way of right¬ 
eousness. 



CHAPTER XVII 


The Capture 

As sanity returned to the people of Bison City, 
the possibility that a mistake had been made in 
the mobbing of Jim Brandon grew to a certainty. 
A few radicals still secretly gloated over the pun¬ 
ishment that had been given to a defenseless man, 
but they were no longer boastful. Congressman 
Hull had attended to having the broken windows 
of the Bugle office boarded up and the doors were 
kept locked, so the curious could only surmise 
as to the damage done to the plant. People now 
realized that there was more than a chance that 
Brandon had been right after all, and that Steve 
Osborn and his accomplices were the real crimi¬ 
nals. Yet Brandon was now paying the penalty, 
stretched on a cot in the hospital, battling des¬ 
perately for his life, while Osborn, loaded with 
loot from the Trust Company’s vault, was still 
at liberty. There was an insistent demand that 
some effort should be made to capture the bold 
robber and that he be brought to trial for his 
crime. He already had many hours’ start and 
every moment’s delay increased his chances of 
escape. 

In this emergency everyone turned to Dave Fal¬ 
lon. He had been a famous scout. He could fol¬ 
low a trail with the ablest of the Indians. He 
knew every foot of the country, every water 
course, trail and possible outlet the daring gam¬ 
bler might select in attempting escape. Fallon 
had undaunted courage and was known all over 

196 


THE CAPTUEE 


197 


the west as a dead shot. Instinctively then, the 
authorities turned to him and asked him to lead 
a posse in pursuit. 

“Posse!” he snorted when they made their re¬ 
quest, “what in blazes do I want with a posse? 
I’ll not need any army to bring in Steve Osborn, 
if that’s what you are after. I’m deputy sheriff. 
Give me orders to get him, dead or alive, and I’ll 
bring him back in due season. It may take some 
time, as I suppose nobody knows what direction 
he has taken.” 

“Pardon me for offering a suggestion,” said a 
stranger in the crowd, a sleek, well-dressed young 
man of about Jim Brandon’s age, “but wouldn’t 
it be well to look after the legal side of the case, 
also, and have all the papers properly made out? 
This robber may get beyond the borders of the 
state before he is apprehended. Then there 
would surely be legal complications.” 

The crowd turned to take a good look at the 
inquisitive speaker. Prom the cut of his clothes, 
his polished address and gloved hands, he was 
evidently newly arrived from the East. He spoke 
fluently and carried himself with an air of confi¬ 
dence that was apparent to all. 

“I am the new lawyer employed by certain 
eastern creditors of the Western Trust Com¬ 
pany,” he said by way of explanation. “I am 
here to do what I can to help untangle this sad 
state of affairs. If I can be of any assistance to 
you, I gladly offer my services. Undoubtedly this 
bold bandit you speak of, should be apprehended 
and brought to trial. May I assist you in getting 
all the papers made out properly?” 

“Papers hell!” stormed Dave Fallon, “I 
thought it was Steve Osborn you people wanted, 
not a mess of legal documents. If it’s papers you 


198 


THE KANSAN 


want, no doubt this young man will answer your 
purpose as well as anyone. If it’s Steve Osborn 
you want, say the word, and I’ll get him. You 
can serve your papers on him when I bring him 
back. Meanwhile, we are losing time and every 
hour counts. Shall I go?” 

The old scout’s ideas of justice were crude but 
the people who heard him were western and 
knew that he meant business. The sheriff stepped 
forward. 

“Dave, I guess you had better go get him. You 
can have a posse if you want one or just go it 
alone. Use your own judgment but bring back 
your man. That’s all we ask.” 

“Bring him dead or alive?” queried the scout, 
with a side glance at the startled young attorney. 

“I said to use your own judgment,” replied 
the sheriff, “but bring him back.” 

“But, gentlemen—” sputtered the attorney. 

“Now just hold your horses, young man,” cut 
in the scout. 44 1 haven’t the least doubt but what 
you are right up to the minute on all the legal 
aspects of this case, but you are evidently new to 
this country. I’m not. There ’ll be plenty of time 
for you to exercise your legal attainments after I 
get back unless my plans should slip. In that 
event a parson would probably be needed instead 
of a lawyer. ’ ’ 

With this parting shot Dave Fallon turned and 
walked down the street to his rooms where he be¬ 
gan rapid preparations for the pursuit. He 
knew the country and he knew his man. Steve 
Osborn had been on the border since boyhood. 
He was a good horseman and cunning as a fox. 

As the old scout mounted and rode out of Bison 
City, he bore steadily to the southwest, riding 
rapidly for the first few miles. Then he began 


THE CAPTURE 


199 


a wide detour of the farmsteads, making search¬ 
ing inquiries at each stopping-place. He was 
reasonably sure that Osborn had headed straight 
for the border of the Indian Territory. There 
were several routes, any one of which the fugitive 
might follow. 

He rode steadily, making little progress until 
late in the afternoon when he gained information 
that confirmed his conclusions. Osborn had evi¬ 
dently ridden hard during the night. It was not 
until daylight that settlers could have seen him, 
and Osborn was crafty enough to keep well un¬ 
der cover and hide his trail, anticipating pursuit. 

Guided more by instinct than by positive in¬ 
formation, Dave Fallon decided upon his course 
and rode well into the night before stopping for 
rest. He was up bright and early the next morn¬ 
ing. As he traveled steadily the next day, the 
country became wilder, more thinly settled. There 
was now only an occasional settler’s shack or 
ranchman’s home, widely separated. This was 
the country he knew and loved. A wide, level 
plain now stretched away for miles on every hand. 
He w T as nearing the breaks of the Cimarron river. 
There he hoped to pick up the trail. Again he 
rode late and by daylight was in the saddle, again 
making a wide detour. If Steve Osborn had 
traveled in this direction it was now time to know 
it. The matter must be settled even if it took 
precious days to determine the fact. For after 
crossing the Cimarron river, the routes diverged. 
He knew he could not follow them all. 

It was an anxious time for the frontiersman 
but he rode steadily backward and forward, eyes 
on the ground, searching for a sign. Finally, just 
before sunset, his search was rewarded. He had 
found the trail, indistinct but sufficient. He knew 


200 


THE KANSAN 


now which way to go. A whole day had been lost 
but he deemed it a day well spent after all and 
went into camp early, as horse and rider were 
beginning to show signs of the steady strain upon 
their endurance. 

At daybreak they were off again, this time fol¬ 
lowing a plain course. He knew Steve Osborn’s 
route now, even without the faint trail, but his 
keen eyes lost nothing of the story the trail told. 
As he hung doggedly to the trail it hourly grew 
fresher. 

“I am gaining on him,” mused the scout, “but 
he will beat me to the Territory line. I can’t help 
that, though. I’ll get him if I have to follow him 
across the Red river into Texas.” 

At noon the next day, when Dave Fallon drew 
rein at the waterhole known as the Sunken 
Springs, where a few stunted cottonwoods strug¬ 
gled for existence, he dismounted and closely ex¬ 
amined the ashes of a campfire. There were still 
live coals. 

“Trail’s warming up,” he chuckled. “The 
Wichita mountains are in sight. I know where 
he will camp tonight. I think the chase is draw¬ 
ing to a close.” 

After food and water he was again in the saddle, 
riding hard but now avoiding the ridges. He had 
an objective and cared little for the signs of the 
trail. At sunset he dismounted and climbing one 
of the huge granite mounds, gazed long and 
searchingly to the southwest. Then he chuckled 
and slapped his knee. His deductions were veri¬ 
fied. A thin spiral of smoke was winding slowly 
upward from the camping ground well known to 
the scout, only a few miles ahead. 

He went back, mounted and rode steadily for¬ 
ward until his own camp ground was reached, 


THE CAPTURE 


201 


less than a half a mile from where he felt sure 
his man was resting. Then he began his plans. 

44 Just as well rest a little myself,’’ he muttered. 
“I need a good night’s sleep as well as Steve. If 
things go all right I’ll have to keep one eye open 
most of the time from now until I get hack to 
town. I guess it will be best to give Stevie the 
surprise of his sweet young life along about day¬ 
light tomorrow morning.” 

Having thus delivered himself, he attended to 
his horse, stored away a dry lunch and then roll¬ 
ing himself in his blankets slept soundly. 

In the darkest hour, just before dawn, he awoke, 
looked carefully to his revolver, patted his horse 
gently as he passed and commenced the ascent 
on foot to Steve Osborn’s camp. The country 
was wildly picturesque, even in the dense shad¬ 
ows. He knew his ground well and went forward 
as stealthily as a panther, not a twig moving, not 
a single blade of grass stirring to betray his ap¬ 
proach even had there been broad daylight in¬ 
stead of the friendly darkness. 

The dawn was breaking as he crept stealthily 
into the camp and took his station, crouching be¬ 
side a giant boulder, in plain sight and not ten 
feet from the sleeping fugitive. There he 
crouched, gun in hand, patiently waiting. Dawn 
stole on quickly while he waited. The sleeping 
man stirred, then, actuated by some telepathic 
sense of danger, sat bolt upright and gazed 
straight into the eyes of Dave Fallon, crouching, 
gun in hand. 

“Morning, Steve!” 

For an instant the gambler was thunderstruck. 
Then, as the situation gradually dawned upon 
him, he made a convulsive movement toward his 
gun. 


202 


THE KANSAN 


“Don’t do that, Steve,” came the sharp com¬ 
mand. “I’d a good deal rather plug you than 
not, so don’t aggravate me.” 

“How in hell did you get here?” snarled the 
startled gambler, his eyes roving restlessly from 
the leveled revolver to the steady face of his 
captor. 

“Just dropped in for a little friendly conver¬ 
sation, that’s all. Stand up, Steve, and put up 
your hands!” 

There was a baleful glitter in the gambler’s 
eyes as he reluctantly started to obey. 

“That’s right. Now listen carefully to what 
I have to say to you if you value your worthless 
life in the least.” The tones of the scout were 
sharp, like the ring of steel, as he advanced. 
“Now then, turn your back and extend me your 
hands. Quick! ’ ’ 

As Steve Osborn turned as directed, he felt the 
muzzle of the revolver pressed to his back. 
Slowly he lowered his hands as directed. He felt 
the pressure of the revolver slacken as the grip 
of the cold steel of the handcuffs closed upon one 
of his wrists. The sensation made him wild, des¬ 
perate. Quicker than thought his free arm made 
a wild swing as he shifted his body. He clutched 
the scout about the neck in a deathlike grip. The 
struggle was on. 

Steve Osborn was lithe, supple, active as a cat, 
but he was met with the iron grip of the old 
plainsman. Together they struggled backward 
and forward in the gray light of dawn. For a 
time, taken by surprise, the scout was at a serious 
disadvantage and the gambler’s eyes glittered 
with hate as he clung desperately to his hold about 
his opponent’s neck, at the same time grasping 
the hand that held the gun. Once Fallon slipped 


THE CAPTURE 


203 


and went down on one knee but with a mighty 
effort he jerked his antagonist toward him. Again 
he dropped, this time purposely, and with a lusty 
heave he lifted Osborn’s feet from the ground and 
with a quick swing brought him down with a 
crash. 

This broke the hold about his neck. Instantly 
he was upon his foe and over and over the strug¬ 
gling forms rolled, scattering the dry leaves and 
rustling grass blades. Slowly but steadily the 
scout worked for Osborn’s free hand. After a 
desperate struggle he secured a firm hold, 
wrenched his opponent’s arms together and snap¬ 
ped the other handcuff fast, with a deftness born 
of years of experience. The struggle was over. 
Osborn’s hands were manacled sound and fast. 
Both men were breathing heavily from their 
deadly struggle. 

“I see you are still pretty foxy, Steve,” panted 
the plainsman. “The next time you try a trick 
like that I’ll shoot you first and handcuff you 
afterward. That will save a lot of trouble for 
both of us.” 

“You win this time,” snarled Steve Osborn, as 
he moistened his dry lips. 

“Glad to hear that, Steve, for there isn’t going 
to be any next time for you, never.” 

“Never is a long time, you coyote.” 

“Now see here, Stevie, I wish you wouldn’t 
talk that way. If anybody should happen along 
and overhear your remarks they might opine that 
we were not on the best of terms, rather unfriend¬ 
ly like. ’ ’ 

Fallon was in high good humor. Going to 
Steve’s saddle he returned with a rope and ap¬ 
proached his captive. 

“Excuse me, Steve, but I am taking no more 


204 


THE KANSAN 


chances. You are a trifle too foxy. I’ll have to 
tie up those feet of yours, for I must get some 
breakfast and I can’t waste any more time run¬ 
ning around after you. I’ve been out several 
days already.” 

He quickly bound Steve Osborn’s ankles. 

“Now, my hearty, you can stand up, sit down, 
roll over or amuse yourself any way you like 
while I do a little investigating. ” 

The captive grew sullen and did not reply. 
Fallon again returned to the gambler’s saddle 
and began a hasty search. At sight of this, Op- 
born grew red in the face as he tugged at his 
bonds. Soon the scout dragged out the secreted 
money. 

“This all the swag, Steve?” he asked as he 
bent over the packages of bills and the sacks of 
coin. “You had better talk. Is this all the stolen 
money?” 

“No,” the gambler snapped, “it’s not. Most 
of it is my own. There wasn’t much left in the 
vault by the time I got around.” 

“Maybe so,” assented Fallon, “but you will 
have a hard time proving that. The Company is 
in so deep that it is said they will not pay out 
ten cents on the dollar. Somebody must have 
landed the swag. Anyhow, I’ll take care of this 
and turn it over to the sheriff.” 

“Dave, what are people saying back in town?” 

“Well, they are in a rather ugly mood just now, 
or were when I left. They realize now that the 
mobbing of Jim Brandon was a mistake and that 
it was other parties that caused the bank to fail. 
They also insisted rather strongly that you 
should return. That’s why I am here.” 

Steve Osborn was craven at heart and the 


THE CAPTURE 


205 


thought of returning to Bison City filled him with 
a wild fear. He began to beg. 

“Listen, Dave. We’re here alone, just the two 
of us. You know there is a good pile of money 
in those saddle bags. Why not get yours, now 
that you have the chance. I’ll never bother you. 
All I ask is a fair start. The money will be yours 
and you can go wherever you like.” 

The old scout arose and strode toward his cap¬ 
tive, with clenched hands. 

“You despicable little skunk, you cut that sort 
of talk right now. You have been crooked all 
your life and imagine that everybody else is the 
same way. No, Steve, you are going back just as 
quickly as horseflesh will carry you. Don’t spring 
any more of that sort of talk or I will gag you as 
well as hog-tie you. Get that?” 

“But they may mob me, too,” said the pleading 
rascal. 

“Oh no, they’ll not. Not while I am in town. 
You seem to have developed quite a horror of 
the mob here lately. It wasn’t so very long ago 
that you were a strong advocate of mob rule, if 
all reports are true.” 

Briskly the scout went about the work of get¬ 
ting breakfast from the stores in his captive’s 
saddlebags. When the meal was ready he went 
over to Steve Osborn, unlocked the handcuffs and 
assisted him in hobbling the few steps to the 
campfire. 

“Sit down and help yourself,” he ordered. 
Steve obeyed. 

Seated opposite his captive, gun in lap, the 
scout joined in the meal, always alert. He was 
in no mood for another tussle. The meal over, 
Fallon arose, reclasped the handcuffs, saddled 


206 


THE KANSAN 


Osborn’s pony, then, reins in hand, he stooped 
and untied the rope from his captive’s feet. 

“We are ready now. March straight ahead 
down the canyon.” 

There was nothing to do but to comply, so the 
march commenced, the handcuffed prisoner in the 
lead, followed by Dave Fallon, leading the for¬ 
mer’s mount. Soon they came to the scout’s 
camp of the night before. Here Fallon called a 
halt, saddled his own horse and ordered Osborn 
to mount his pony. 

4 ‘I believe I’ll just take the liberty to tie your 
feet together beneath the stirrups and then hand¬ 
cuff your hands in front so you can handle the 
reins.” This done, he mounted and said: “You 
take the lead. You know the trail as well as I 
do. Don’t attempt any more of your funny busi¬ 
ness unless you happen to be hankering for a 
bullet in the back. Beat it, lively now. I’ll try to 
follow.” And thus they took up the homeward 
journey. 

One afternoon three days later, two dusty, tired 
horsemen came into Bison City from the south¬ 
west and halted in front of the courthouse. There 
was a lusty shout for the sheriff, who appeared 
quickly in response to the summons. People of 
the town had caught sight of the horsemen and 
a crowd quickly assembled. 

“Here’s your man, sheriff,” said Dave Fallon, 
quietly. “Better get him inside and back to the 
jail before too big a crowd arrives. Go ahead 
with him and when you get him safely put away, 
come back and take charge of the money. I’m 
dead tired and haven’t slept hardly a wink for 
two nights. I’ll stay out here and entertain the 
audience until you get back.” 

The scout dismounted, helped untie the cap- 


THE CAPTURE 


207 


tive’s feet and assisted him to the ground. The 
sheriff quickly hustled his prisoner out of sight. 

The crowd increased and surged toward the 
courthouse door. Leaving the horses, Dave Fal¬ 
lon managed to lounge quietly just in front of 
the door, where he stood, hand on hip. 

“So you got the skunk, did you, Dave?” called 
a voice from the crowd. 

“Yes, I got him,” replied the scout, quietly. 
“Stand back there and quit your jostling, you 
fellows,” he commanded, sternly. “Nobody’s 
going in here just now.” 

“We would like to see the robber,” called a 
voice. 

“Yes, we would like to give the bank robber 
a little of what’s coming to him,” cried another. 

By this time the sheriff had returned. Fallon 
pointed to the saddlebags on his own mount, 

“It’s out there, sheriff,” he said. “Remove 
the bags just as they are and carry them in and 
take care of them until tomorrow. I’ve got a 
few words to say to this crowd before I go to 
bed.” 

The sheriff did as directed and with the bags 
over his shoulder pushed his way through the 
crowd and again disappeared inside. The people 
were eager, curious and still crowding forward. 

“Tell us about it, Dave. Where did you find 
him? Did he put up much of a fight? Did you 
get the money he stole? Does he fear being 
strung up, after all he has done?” 

These and other questions were hurled at the 
scout in rapid succession. He held up his hand 
for silence, then said: 

“I’m pretty well worn out now and want some 
rest. I’ll tell you all about the capture in due 
time. But there’s one thing I want to say to you 


208 


THE KANSAN 


people, and I will speak plainly. I think this 
town has had about enough of mob rule for one 
season and I don’t want to hear of any more of 
it. It isn’t so very long ago that you mobbed 
the wrong man and now most of you are sorry 
for it, but that doesn’t keep him out of the hos¬ 
pital. Some of you would have gone farther and 
committed murder if I hadn’t interfered. It is 
time for you people to quiet down and show some 
sense. I don’t want to hear any more talk of 
mobbing anybody. That’s straight.” 

The crowd moved uneasily but was listening 
intently. Dave Fallon removed his hat and slap¬ 
ped the dust from it, then continued: 

“ Steve Osborn is safely in jail and he is going 
to stay there until he has a fair trial. The money 
he took was in those saddlebags the sheriff just 
carried inside. That will have to satisfy you for 
the present. Now you had better clear out, and 
I warn you not to try to start anything. I’m go¬ 
ing to try to get some sleep now, and if I happen 
to be called up before I get my nap finished, to 
quell some disorder, I am liable to be quite cross 
and ugly about it.” 

With a meaning look, the old plainsman pushed 
his way through the crowd and marched off down 
the street, leading the tired horses. The crowd 
lingered around the courthouse for a time, anx¬ 
ious for more news, but owing to Dave Fallon’s 
words the mob spirit cooled rapidly. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Counting the Cost 

Weeks passed and the warm, languorous days 
of spring were at hand. George Washington 
Bean yawned as he shifted his position behind 
the desk at the Commercial hotel and stretched 
his lengthy body luxuriously. A fly buzzed in¬ 
dustriously on one of the front windows. Out¬ 
side, there was the twitter of birds in the tall 
cottonwoods. 

“Great day for goin’ a fishin , , ,, he said to a 
newly arrived guest, just by way of being so¬ 
ciable. 

“Any fish in this locality?” asked the stranger, 
with some show of interest. 

“Why, sure. Plenty of ’em in the pools down 
along Willow creek. Black bass, lots of ’em. Why 
I was out last week and caught fourteen fine ones 
in one afternoon, all bass. Some of them this 
long.” Bean stretched his hands wide apart, 
anxious to make a profound impression. 

“Is that so?” said the stranger. “And didn’t 
you know that there is a closed season on bass at 
this time of the year? This is the spawning sea¬ 
son.” He eyed Bean rather keenly, the latter 
thought. 

“Anyhow, I’ve found that they always bite 
best along about this time of the year,” Bean per¬ 
sisted. 

“See here, young man. Do you know who I 
am?” demanded the stranger, rather suddenly. 

“No. Who are you?” 

209 


210 


THE KANSAN 


“Well, sir, I am the deputy fish and game war¬ 
den for this district/’ he replied. 

George Washington Bean’s jaw dropped and 
his head wobbled, but speech soon came to his 
aid. 

‘ 4 Stranger, do you know who I am ! ” he asked, 
solemnly. 

“No.” 

“Then I’ll tell you. I’m the damndest liar in 
the state of Kansas. I wasn’t fishing at all. Have 
a cigar. If you’ll excuse me now, I’ve got to go 
over to the hospital right away to see a sick 
friend.” He beat a hasty but dignified retreat. 

Once out in the street he headed for the hos¬ 
pital. He had at least spoken the truth concern¬ 
ing his destination, for Jim Brandon was conva¬ 
lescent and had sent for him. The doctors had 
declared that Jim was able to receive visitors, so, 
after being shut up in the hospital so long, he 
lost no time in sending for his taffy-haired friend. 

Bean found Jim Brandon sitting up in bed, 
looking rather pale and thin, but mending rapidly. 

“Good morning, Jim. How’s your head and 
your stomach and your heels and everything!” 
was his greeting as he joyfully grasped his friend 
by the hand. 

“I’m doing pretty well, considering. It is a 
good thing to be hard-headed sometimes,” with 
a smile. “If that club hadn’t broken, no doubt 
it would have cracked my head instead. That 
whack on the head caused me a lot of trouble even 
as it was. If it wasn’t for occasional dizzy spells 
I would be all right now. George, did you know 
I could walk!” 

“You don’t mean it!” 

“Sure I do. I’ve tried it. Let me show you.” 

Jim kicked the covers off his feet, slid over to 


COUNTING THE COST 


211 


the edge of the cot, and planting his feet carefully 
on the floor, arose. The first few steps were 
steady enough. Then the dizziness came and he 
made a dash for the cot, Bean rushing to his 
assistance. 

“You are some walker/’ said Bean. “You. 
travel just like the left hind leg of a dog that’s 
been hit by a locomotive.” 

“I guess I had better stick to the bed for a 
while,” replied Jim, faintly. “The doctors say 
the dizziness will soon leave me. After that, I’ll 
be all right. I hope to be out in a few days. Now, 
George, sit down and tell me all the news. I am 
fairly bursting with curiosity.” 

“Well, I don’t know much that will be inter¬ 
esting, but I am always game when I have a 
chance to talk. Of course I know twice as much 
about what’s been going on as you do. The trou¬ 
ble is that you won’t know nothing at all. What 
do you want to hear about first! The print 
shop ! ’ ’ 

“Yes, tell me about the Bugle office. Did you 
stay there that night after I left! What did they 
do to the shop! And to you!” 

“Now just take things easy and don’t work 
yourself into a lather. The doctor told me I could 
stay as long as I wanted to. Yes, I stayed there 
that night, longer than I cared to. Sort of stayed 
by request as it were. I heard that mob coming, 
and honest, Jim, my knees shook. By the time 
they got to the front door and commenced to 
smash glass, I tell you I was standing on my run¬ 
ning foot, but it wasn’t any use. They had the 
shop surrounded and were breaking in. I tried 
to talk them out of it but it was just like playing 
with the tail of a cyclone.” Bean paused for 
breath. 


212 


THE KANSAN 


“Go on, George. What did they do?” 

“Better ask what didn’t they do. I guess, in 
my excitement I yowled a little too hard trying 
to get them to stop and it kind of got on their 
nerves. They grabbed me and one of them had a 
rope. I sure thought it was all off with G. W. B. 
right then. But they only tied me up so I would 
be harmless, but after I let out another big 
squawk they decided to gag me. The only thing 
they could find for the purpose was the Bugle’s 
office towel, so they used that. Say, man, that’s 
some towel. That thing would gag ’most any¬ 
body!” 

Jim Brandon laughed heartily, his first genuine 
laugh in weeks. 

“Well, after that I was good. They just 
dumped me to one side and went after the shop 
like a tomcat after a canary bird. They yanked 
out the cases, upset the type on the floor, smashed 
the imposing stones, pied the forms, broke up the 
presses, smashed the stools and just raised hell 
generally until there wasn’t anything left. Once 
I thought they were going to set. fire to the dump 
and leave me in there. You know I’m rather 
helpless when I can’t talk. Cute little icicles 
chased each other up and down my spine about 
that time, but some one outside shouted that they 
were going after the Western Trust Company 
building and they soon left me alone in my glory. 
I felt just like the boy that stood on the burning 
deck only there wasn’t any fire. I remained there 
until Dave Fallon arrived and cut me loose so I 
could help him bring you to the hospital.” 

“So the shop is a total wreck?” 

“It’s worse than that. It’s a wreck, chaos and 
a cyclone all twisted into one. If you ever print 
another paper you’ll do it with a new outfit.” 


COUNTING THE COST 


213 


“It is too bad,” said Jim, sadly. “Still, I 
suppose others in this town have suffered losses 
as well as me since the bubble burst.” 

“I should say they did. The old town is just 
about down and out. Nearly everybody is busted 
or in jail. They say figures won’t lie but liars 
certainly did some tall figuring while that boom 
was on. I suppose you know I got bumped along 
with the rest,” said Bean, sorrowfully. 

“Did you lose your new store building, George? 
That’s too bad.” 

“I didn’t exactly lose it, because I never really 
owned it, but at one time I could have sold out 
and made a thousand dollars clean profit, but I 
wnnted to make two. To look at that little empty 
building now, makes me wonder what kind of a 
bug really bit us during the boom.” 

Bean was silent for a moment, then went on: 
“It wasn’t much of a building but I put what 
little savings I had into it and borrowed the rest. 
And I was proud of it. So proud, you remember, 
that I had my initials, ‘G. W. B.,’ stuck up at 
the top there, big as life. Now the whole thing 
has gone flooey. A stranger asked me the other 
day what G. W. B. stood for and I had to sidestep. 
I told him those letters meant: George Went 
Broke.” He leaned back and laughed uproar¬ 
iously. 

Jim Brandon smiled but was sympathetic. 

“George, aren’t you ever quite serious?” 

“Serious? Why I’m the man that invented 
seriousness. But there is nothing made by over¬ 
working it. I saved the furniture and fixtures, 
anyway. There wasn’t any mortgage on them, 
so I loaded them up and have them safely stored. 
One fellow got smart as he saw me riding along 
on top of the load and wanted to know if I was 


214 


THE KANSAN 


moving. I told him he was mistaken. That it 
was such a nice day that I was just merely taking 
the furniture out for a ride!” 

“There you go again,” laughed Jim. 

“Sure. Worrying don’t help. They say every 
dog has his day. I guess I must have had mine 
when I was a pup, as I don’t seem to recollect 
much about it. Why even the Hull bank had a 
pretty tight squeak.” 

“So I hear.” 

“Who told you?” 

“Mr. Hull. He has paid me several short visits 
of late.” 

“Did he tell you about that money he had in 
the window? No? It was a pretty good bluff. 
It was real money all right, but he told me that 
at one time when the run was on and the pressure 
was the heaviest, he had less than a hundred dol¬ 
lars left in the tills. To have commenced to take 
the money out of the window would have been 
the beginning of the end, for the crowd would 
have known that he was then up against it. I 
guess the old man commenced to smoke a little 
around the neckband about that time, but things 
changed and the deposits began to return and 
he pulled through with flying colors. Only a very 
few know just how close a call his bank really 
had. ’ ’ 

“And our old friend Jonathan Butler? How 
is he making it in these days since the boom?” 
inquired Jim. 

“Well, sir, he seems to be just as happy as a 
jaybird in a tree full of woolly worms. I’ll ad¬ 
mit that I never did quite understand that man. 
He is actually poorer now than he was during 
grasshopper year, but he is cheerful and full of 
pep. They say he has turned over every bit of 


COUNTING THE COST 


215 


property he had to the Western Trust Company 
in an attempt to make restitution. He didn’t have 
much property to deliver, but he gave up all he 
had, admitted obligations that he might have side¬ 
stepped and is doing his level best to be square.” 

“But how did he manage to escape prosecu¬ 
tion? There was no question about his having 
violated the law,” said Jim. 

“Search me. They say after he confessed and 
came across, he made some sort of a settlement 
with the Company. Some say that even Sparks 
will wriggle through and not go to jail. I don’t 
pretend to understand the inside of the deal, but 
really, I’m glad that Mr. Butler fared no worse. 
He has had his lesson and has braced up. He has 
again opened his office and is picking up a little 
business even in these slack times.” 

“So Mr. Butler and Sam Sparks wriggled out. 
I hardly expected it,” replied Jim. 

“Well, I suppose you know that Steve Osborn 
burned up all the notes, the night he robbed the 
bank, so there really wasn’t anything in the way 
of direct evidence against Mr. Butler, as the 
books didn’t show the shadiest deals. There was 
nothing but Butler’s word for it, in case Sam 
Sparks sat tight and you can trust Sam to do 
that. Still, I have my doubts about their having 
come clear, even then, if it hadn’t been for the 
new lawyer. Say, that guy is a pretty smooth 
article. ’ ’ 

“New lawyer?” echoed Jim Brandon. 

“Sure. Hadn’t you heard? He landed in town 
the day after the Trust Company busted. Claim¬ 
ed to represent the interests of some eastern 
creditors. ’ ’ 

“No, I hadn’t heard. Tell me about him.” 

“He is young, smart, good looking, dresses like 


216 


THE KANSAN 


a dude and has somehow taken a great fancy to 
Jonathan Butler. There is some talk of their 
forming a partnership, law, loans, real estate, in¬ 
surance and all that. His name is Norman Asher 
and they say he is rich. Anyhow, he looks the 
part. I have been told that the deal would have 
been closed but for Butler. It would really make 
a pretty good combination, Butler to furnish the 
experience and Asher the finances. In the old 
days Butler would have been keen enough. He 
would have bet his whiskers on a cinch like that. 
That’s why I say I cannot understand him. I 
have heard that he don’t like the partnership 
idea because he is already so heavily in debt that 
he can’t pay out and doesn’t want to compromise 
the firm with his present prospects.” 

“You think this new lawyer has come to stay?” 
asked Jim. 

“Looks that way to me. He’s a good mixer, 
even if he is a trifle aristocratic. He is cutting 
a pretty wide swath already and apparently is 
enjoying the sensation.” 

“I am greatly pleased to hear that Mr. Butler 
is making a new start and is attempting to play 
the game on a square basis. He has the ability 
to do big things even yet, if he will only follow 
the straight path!” said Jim. 

“He has already done a big thing in making a 
clean breast of things when he could have kept 
still and escaped a lot of trouble. The people 
know what, he has done and respect him for it. 
Some say it was due to the new lawyer fixing 
things up for him. Others declare that Marion 
had a hand in making him come across. Of course 
I don’t know the real inside dope.” 

“Do you see Marion often?” asked Jim. There 
was a tinge of sadness in his voice. 


COUNTING THE COST 


217 


His friend noticed it. He knew there was some 
sort of trouble between the lovers but he was too 
good a friend to inquire the cause. 

“Yes, I see her occasionally,’’ he replied. “She 
doesn’t seem to be the least bit depressed over 
their financial reverses. And as for her father, 
she apparently goes out of her way to show peo¬ 
ple how proud she is of him. Marion is a loyal 
girl. There is no question about that. ,, 

For a time there was silence between the two 
friends. Jim was the first to speak. 

“So far as I know, she has never called at the 
hospital since I came here. Does she ever ask 
about me?” 

“Every time I have met her she has asked 
about you and seemed pleased when reports were 
favorable. They haven’t allowed any callers, you 
know,” said Bean, cheerfully. “Maybe that’s 
it. You know this is the first time they have given 
me a chance to get in a word edgeways.” 

“Possibly,” said Jim, with a sigh, “but Mollie 
Smith has called several times of late. They 
wouldn’t let her stay but a moment at any of her 
visits. She looks worried and says she is anxious 
to have a long talk with me soon. I wonder what 
it is about.” 

“I might make a guess, but I won’t,” said 
Bean. “There’s been some talk, but I am no 
hand to repeat stories about women. However, 
you know that Mollie has been careless with her 
reputation by fooling with Steve Osborn. There 
may be nothing wrong, but now that Steve is in 
the pen, she has some cause to reflect.” 

“Tell me all about Steve Osborn,” said Jim 
Brandon, changing the subject abruptly. “Start 
at the beginning. I have heard but little.” 

“Well, that night while the mob was paying 


218 


THE KANSAN 


its respects to yon, Steve called Sparks into the 
private room at the hank, made him open the 
vault at the point of a gun, took what money there 
was and then beat it for the Indian territory. 
The next day the sheriff sent Dave Fallon off 
down that way, too, and you bet old Dave didn’t 
go down there just to try to teach the catfish how 
to skate or anything like that. He went after 
Steve and he got him. Dave won’t talk much 
about it. However, he brought his man back, 
turned the money over to the bank and handed 
Steve to the sheriff. Luckily the district court 
convened within less than two weeks and they 
gave Steve preferred position on the court calen¬ 
dar. ” He paused for breath. 

“So you see, Steve lost all the money he had 
with him, both his own and that of the Trust 
Company. Besides that, the court handed him 
a nice little present of twelve years in the peni¬ 
tentiary. ’ ’ 

“Good!” exclaimed Jim Brandon. “I’m glad 
of that.” 

“You may be glad, but I am tickled plum stiff,” 
said Bean. “I guess that’s about all there is to 
tell, Jim. I expect you are tired enough to have 
me leave you now. Still, if there is anything else 
you want to know about, I’m still game.” 

“Only one thing more, George.” 

“Shoot.” 

“How do the people feel now, about the stand 
I took? Has there been much of a change of 
sentiment?” 

“Indeed there has,” declared Bean, quite so¬ 
berly. “Most of them realize now that you were 
in the right and are sorry for what happened to 
you. I think that if you ever get back into the 
newspaper game again you can give ’em both 


COUNTING THE COST 


219 


barrels any time you like and they’ll stand for 
it. They will be mighty glad to see you up and 
around again, believe me.” 

“George, I have had plenty of time to think 
since I have been in here. In fact there was little 
else that I could do. I have had time to count 
the cost of it all, and it has come pretty high, not 
only to others but to me. I can’t tell you all it 
has cost me, now. I may later, but it is more 
than the loss of the shop or mere dollars, I am 
afraid.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Jim. You have done 
the right thing. That’s what counts, after all.” 

“I know. Well, here’s some of the thoughts 
I’ve been thinking. We have all pioneered and 
suffered privations in common. We have boomed 
and have all had a jolt w T hen the thing blew up. 
Now it is time to get together and begin all over 
again. This time we must start right. Then we 
will be able to build upon a solid foundation that 
will insure peace and prosperity. There is much 
still to be done. I’ll soon be ready to resume my 
share of the load in any way I can be of service. ’ ’ 

“Sounds all right to me,” said George Wash¬ 
ington Bean, wobbling his head approvingly. 

“As I said, I have had time during these weeks 
in the hospital, to count the cost of all that has 
come. I guess I came in for my full share. And 
yet, I’ll say this: Knowing what I know, if I had 
it all to do over again, I would do exactly the 
same thing,” declared Jim Brandon, earnestly. 

“Well, Jim, you are just like me, only I would¬ 
n’t. I don’t care for any newspaper work in 
mine. It is just a trifle too strenuous for a man 
of my peculiar disposition. I’ve seen enough 
journalism to satisfy me. I prefer to be just a 
common, ordinary hotel clerk and thus be in a 


220 


THE KANSAN 


position to lie out of it any time I get in bad. 
That’s the life for me. ’ ’ He grinned at his friend, 
hopefully. 

“That’s just talk,” said Brandon. “You have 
as much courage as the best of them. ’ ’ 

“Probably always will have, if I don’t have to 
use any of it. Well, Jim, I’m going. I hope you 
have enjoyed this visit half as much as I have.” 

“Goodbye, George. Come often. You’ll ex¬ 
cuse my not getting up. I am doing fine, but the 
doctors told me not to exert myself much until 
this dizziness leaves me.” 

The two friends shook hands and there was a 
world of meaning in their eyes as they said good¬ 
bye. 

Once outside, George Washington Bean started 
directly for the hotel. His head was erect, his 
shoulders thrown back. The interview with his 
old friend had done him much good. As he 
turned the corner onto Main street he saw Marion 
Butler hurrying home. She paused when she saw 
him and waited for him to come up. 

“Good morning, George. Just coming from 
the hospital?” 

“Yes, Miss Marion.” 

“How’s Jim?” 

“Just fine. Sitting up and walking around sort 
o’ wobbly like. Doctor says he’ll be out in a few 
days.” 

“I am so glad to hear that. George, has he— 
did he ever inquire about—that night?” 

“No, he hasn’t asked a word about what hap¬ 
pened then, and I am glad he hasn’t. You know 
my name is George Washington and it would be 
pretty hard for me to have to tell a lie.” 

His eyes rolled, showing the whites as in the 


COUNTING THE COST 


221 


old days at Willow Creek school. Marion smiled. 

“Has he inquired about me!” she ventured. 

“Many times. I remember that today he men¬ 
tioned the fact that Mollie Smith had been to see 
him several times, but that you had not been to 
the hospital even once.’’ 

“Mollie Smith V 9 she gasped. 

“Yes,” said Bean, not heeding the interrup¬ 
tion. ‘ 4 1 could have told him that you were there 
at least once, but you hold a checkrein on me.” 

“Please don’t mention that yet, George. And 
Mollie Smith has called often,” she repeated. 
“Well, I must be going. Thank you for your 
many favors, George.” 

He noticed that her face was paler and that 
there was a worried look in her eyes as she turned 
to go. His playful reference to Mollie Smith had 
not helped matters between the lovers. He felt 
quite certain of that. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A Face in the Moonlight 

One pleasant summer morning Jim Brandon 
was at last able to venture forth and leave the 
hospital. The dizziness that had bothered him 
so long, was now gone. He was far from robust. 
The hospital palor was still on his cheeks but his 
step was light and firm and he felt that he was 
again ready to take up life’s battle, convinced 
that there was still much to be done for Bison 
City and the people of the valley. 

Blackbirds were chattering noisily in the cot¬ 
tonwoods as Jim Brandon walked in the bright 
sunshine along familiar streets on his way to the 
Bugle office. The warmth of the summer sun was 
comforting. Passing citizens saluted him heart¬ 
ily and congratulated him upon his recovery. The 
world seemed a pretty good old place after all. 

As he turned the corner on the busy thorough¬ 
fare where his printing office was located, he met 
Mollie Smith, who stopped him and with a fur¬ 
tive glance, bade him good morning. He was 
startled at the change in her appearance. The 
old, happy, carefree manner was gone. Her eyes 
were bright but restless and there was a worried 
look about the mouth which in former days was 
always laughing. 

“May I speak to you just a moment?” she 
asked, stepping out of the crowd and looking 
furtively up and down the street. 

“Why certainly, Mollie. What is the matter? 
Is anything wrong?” 


222 


FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 


223 


“Yes, everything is wrong, Jim. I can’t say 
what I want to here. I haven’t the time and the 
place is too public. I am in the greatest trouble 
of my life. When can I see you privately? I 
must have a talk with you, and that soon. I’ve 
thought it all over and there is no one else to go 
to. It’s of vital importance or I wouldn’t suggest 
such a thing. When may I talk to you private¬ 
ly?” 

“Right here, if you care to,” replied Jim, 
kindly. 

“No, no, not here. I can’t. Besides, I haven’t 
the time now. Could I meet you some place this 
evening?” She moistened her dry lips and con¬ 
tinued a show of suppressed excitement, 

“Why, yes, if that suits you.” 

“At what time?” 

“Any time you like this evening. I will be at 
the Bugle office until quite late. Come there 
whenever you care to. Just knock at the door 
on the side street. I’ll be waiting for you.” 

“Oh, thank you, Jim. I hate to trouble you but 
I must talk to somebody. I don’t want to be seen 
talking with you here on the street any longer. 
I’ll come this evening without fail. Goodbye, 
Jim. It seems good to see you up and around 
again.” With a faint attempt at a smile, she 
turned and hurried away. 

Jim Brandon was puzzled. Mollie Smith was 
undoubtedly in trouble of some sort or at least 
imagined that she was, which w T as much the same 
thing. While revolving this affair over in his 
mind he walked slowly into sight of the Bugle 
office. The view drove all thoughts of Mollie 
Smith from his mind temporarily. 

He saw that the windows were boarded up. He 
had no idea the place looked so forlorn. Placing 


224 


THE KANSAN 


the key in the lock he opened the front door and 
stepped inside. He removed his hat and gazed 
long and earnestly. His first impression was 
that the old dizziness was returning, hut the sen¬ 
sation quickly passed. He walked over to his 
old desk, strewn with papers and dust, straight¬ 
ened up the rickety chair and sat down. 

“What a wreck!” he mused. “What a total 
wreck. It may not be worth while to start all 
over again. Who knows !” 

He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, 
realizing that he was still weak. For some time 
he sat lost in thought, until he glanced up and 
noticed that visitors were dropping in. Passing 
citizens were quick to note that the front door of 
the Bugle office was open and dropped in to see 
what was going on. They had friendly greetings 
and words of sympathy. All expressed the hope 
that the Bugle would resume publication. Among 
the early arrivals was Congressman Hull, who 
came in with his usual brisk manner and cheer¬ 
ful smile. 

“Welcome back, my boy,” he shouted. “This 
begins to look more like a newspaper office al¬ 
ready with you here again. Of course things will 
need a little straightening up after that night’s 
celebration.” He laughed as he glanced depre- 
catingly around over the wrecked plant. “Of 
course you are going to start up again?” 

“I have just been thinking that matter over 
rather seriously during the last half hour. I’ll 
admit I haven’t arrived at any definite conclu¬ 
sion as yet. I’m no quitter, but I must say that 
this pile of junk has me fairly bluffed for the 
time being.” 

“Of course you are no quitter and you are go¬ 
ing to print the Bugle again, just as soon as you 


A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 225 


can get things straightened out. We need you 
now, young man, more than we ever did before. 
Your work is here. You know these people. De¬ 
cide right now to stay where you are needed. 
We’ll do the rest.” 

‘ 4 That’s right,” chimed several of the visitors. 

Jim still hesitated. He could not shake off the 
feeling of depression created by the desolate- 
looking office. Congressman Hull walked up to 
him, placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder 
and looked him squarely in the eye. 

“I know what you are thinking about, but you 
are wrong. A good part of this plant can be sal¬ 
vaged, no matter how tough it looks now. Money 
will be required for some new material and I know 
where the money can be obtained, so that need 
not worry you. Right now you are a little afraid 
of yourself and inclined to feel shaky. That is 
only natural after what you have been through.” 

“I am not afraid,” said Jim, quietly. 

“I know. I know,” resumed the banker 
quickly, a little twinkle showing in the corner of 
his shrewd eyes. 4 ‘No one has ever questioned 
your courage. But what you need right now is 
work, something to keep you occupied, something 
to center yourself upon. You’ll be surprised 
what a change it will make. Suppose you take 
off your coat, roll up your sleeves and wade into 
this mess and see how bad it is? Make an ac¬ 
curate list of the things you will have to buy, as 
you go along. Bring the estimate to me when 
you have completed it. There will be plenty of 
time after that to decide upon what you want to 
do. Doesn’t that sound reasonable?” 

“Yes, sir, it does. That’s what I was thinking 
about when you came in. ’ ’ 

“All right. Get busy, but be careful to not 


226 


THE KANSAN 


overwork. There is plenty of time. We will get 
out now and give you the opportunity you need . 91 

Congressman Hull was shrew T d enough to see 
that he had gained his point and did not care to 
press the matter further. 

Jim Brandon was prompt to act. No sooner 
had the crowd filed out than he closed the door, 
locked it, threw his coat across a broken type- 
rack and started in to investigate the ruins. The 
congressman was right. The work was invigor¬ 
ating. His mental vision cleared. He had been 
inactive too long. There was much to be done 
and he went to work with a will. 

As he was leaving the office at noon, rather 
tired but more cheerful than he had been since 
the night of the assault, he came face to face with 
Marion Butler, hurrying past. She saw him, 
hesitated, colored slightly, then came to him with 
extended hand. 

“I am so glad to see you out again ,’ 9 she said, 
frankly. 

“Beally!” 

“Yes. Why the doubt!” 

“I really don’t know,” he answered, lamely. 

For a moment Marion was swept by a wave of 
pity for the pathetic figure in the doorway. He 
was not the robust Jim Brandon of old. He 
plainly bore the marks of suffering. She was on 
the verge of retraction even there on the public 
street, of admitting that she had misjudged him 
and asking his forgiveness, when he said: 

“You did not come to see me while I was at 
the hospital.” 

“No, but I hear that others did.” She bit her 
lips as the words escaped and would have given 
much to have recalled them. 

“Others!” he questioned, blankly. 


A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 227 


“Yes.” 

‘ ‘ That does not explain matters nor answer my 
question/ ’ he replied, steadily. 

“Doesn’t it, really?” she rejoined. She felt 
that she w r as getting the worst of the argument 
but could not retreat. “Possibly it would bear 
thinking over, anyway.” 

Jim thought but arrived at no understanding. 

“I know you blame me for many things, but I 
had hopes that you had come to a clearer under¬ 
standing of my position by this time. At least 
it would be much better if you would be perfectly 
frank and not talk in riddles. Then I would at 
least understand you. Won’t you try, Marion?” 
he pleaded gently. 

Again she was on the verge of yielding, but 
fate played with her. 

“I can’t say more now, Jim. Possibly a little 
later everything will be clearer to both of us. I 
can’t quarrel with you. Goodbye. I repeat, I 
am glad that you have recovered.” 

As she looked him squarely in the face he 
thought there was a look of suffering in her eyes. 

“Marion!” he called as she turned to go. 

“Goodbye, Jim,” she repeated, as she turned 
and walked away. 

“Goodbye,” he answered. It was all he could 
say. He stood silently, hat in hand, watching the 
departing form of the girl he loved. 

That evening, while seated at his desk, he heard 
a timid rap at the door of his office which opened 
on the side street. The lamp on his desk cast a 
yellow gleam across the disordered office as he 
arose to answer the summons. As he opened the 
door Mollie Smith came in quickly. 

“I don’t want to be seen coming here,” she 


228 


THE KANSAN 


gasped. “I’ve only got a moment to stay and 
there is much to be said." 

Jim Brandon led her to a seat near his desk. 
He noticed that she had been crying. She was 
more nervous than on former occasions. Seating 
himself he faced her and said, kindly: “Now, 
Mollie, unburden yourself. This isn't a very at¬ 
tractive place," he waved his hand toward the 
disordered shop, 4 ‘but that doesn't matter, I 
know. Now, what's the trouble?" 

“I don't know where to commence nor what to 
say or do. I ought not to say anything to you, but 
I am at my wit’s end." 

“Go on, I am listening," he urged. He noticed 
that she was on the verge of a nervous break¬ 
down. 

“Oh, Jim, I can't!" she said, covering her 
crimson face with her hands. 

“Certainly you can. I know you are in trou¬ 
ble. I’ll help you if I can. Tell me about it." 

She raised her tear-stained face. “Yes, I am 
in trouble, the greatest trouble that can come to 
a woman, and I have no one to go to but you. 
Mother must not know; nobody here must know. 
They will all know if I remain here much longer. 
Jim, I am desperate, penniless, friendless, and 1 
am going away if it is only to the river.'' 

“It is certainly not so bad as that?" 

“Indeed it is. There is no one to help me and 
I suppose I do not deserve any help, but it wasn't 
all my fault. I am not making any defense, how¬ 
ever. I am just desperate, that's all. Father is 
still in the east, soliciting aid for Kansas settlers, 
they say. We are dreadfully poor. The boys are 
all out on the range, making their own way. And 
Steve Osborn, the cause of all my trouble, is now 
in the penitentiary. It would probably be the 


A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 229 


same if he were not there, hut I trusted him for 
a time. I should have known better.’’ 

4 ‘Steve Osborn?” echoed Jim. He was begin¬ 
ning to understand. “You know I warned you 
long ago to have nothing to do with him.” 

‘ ‘1 know, ’ ’ she cried, beginning to grow hysteri¬ 
cal. “Everybody warned me, but I was fasci¬ 
nated. I see it all now that it is too late. What a 
fool I have been! But I can’t stay here. I can’t 
hide my disgrace much longer. Even Marion 
treats me coldly. If I had the means, I would go 
away and stay away. Jim, what can I do?” 

Her voice grew shrill, her actions convulsive. 
In vain Jim tried to quiet her. 

“I’m lost, utterly,” she moaned as she rocked 
to and fro. “Nobody cares.” 

“Somebody cares,” said Jim in a steady voice. 
“Be quiet, Mollie, and listen. I think I under¬ 
stand, and I care. Yours is the age old story. 
Under circumstances somewhat similar Christ 
once said: ‘He that is without sin among you, 
let him cast the first stone at her,’ and no stones 
were thrown. I’ll agree that it is best for you 
to go away. Words at this time are useless. I 
haven’t much money but I think what I have will 
suffice. Come, girl, brace up and go home and 
make your plans accordingly.” 

“Not from you, Jim. No, I didn’t come here 
to beg. I just came for advice. I am fairly dis¬ 
tracted, hopeless.” 

“Come,” he said, gently, lifting her to her feet. 
“We’ll not talk any more about that. Here are 
the bills. Take them. I can think of nothing 
more appropriate at this time than Christ’s 
words: ‘Neither do I condemn thee: Go, and 
sin no more. ’ ’ ’ 

They had reached the door and he placed the 


230 


THE KANSAN 


weeping girl gently outside, thrusting the crum¬ 
pled bills into her hand. He could see her form 
trembling in the moonlight. She turned to him, 
hysterically, grasping the lapels of his coat with 
both hands. 

“ Jim, I must not take this money from you. 
What will people say?” She clung to him con¬ 
vulsively. 

“People need never know,” he replied, disen¬ 
gaging her hands gently. 11 Go, home, Mollie, and 
quiet yourself. Keep your own counsel. I’m 
only too glad to help you, just for old time’s sake. 
Good night.” 

“Good night, Jim, and God bless you. You are 
the best man in the world. Oh, if all men were 
like you!” 

She raised her clenched hands tragically aloft. 
The shawl fell to her shoulders, revealing her 
tear-stained face clearly in the moonlight. Then, 
sobbing, she turned brokenly away. 

Meanwhile, at the Butler home, Marion had 
been having the struggle of her life. The meeting 
with Jim Brandon had recalled all the old mem¬ 
ories and renewed her love for him until she felt 
impelled to give up all doubts. In her heart she 
knew that Jim Brandon had been right and her 
father wrong; that she had sent him away and 
that it was her duty to recall him. In her present 
mood her suspicions and jealousy of Mollie Smith 
seemed trivial. What had she to base suspicion 
on, save the idle chatter of George Washington 
Bean? Why should she hold out longer? Jim 
Brandon had sacrificed and suffered. He needed 
her. A vision of his frail form in the doorway 
of his office haunted her. Love pleaded. The 
harriers were all but down. 

She decided to take a long drive out into the 


A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 231 


country where she could be all alone and think 
more clearly. It was this drive that brought de¬ 
cision, for instinctively she drove out along the 
old Willow Creek road. The flood of childhood 
memories were too strong to withstand. As she 
passed the Willow Creek schoolhouse, the verse 
Jim had repeated to her was recalled. She knew 
it well: 

“There in old haunts, your dear remembered graces 
Like summer blooms returning come to view; 

My heart builds shrines along the wayside places 
Where I have been with you!” 

Dear Jim. She determined to make amends 
that very evening. She felt sure that he would 
be at his office. Possibly he would resume his 
old habit of an evening stroll through the park 
after leaving the Bugle office. She decided to 
meet and accompany him. 

The decision once made, the surrender planned, 
her love welled up until its intensity surprised 
her. She drove rapidly homeward. On the way, 
she caught sight of a bunch of cream white flowers 
just opening their frail petals in a ravine beside 
the hedgerow. They were wild primroses, Jim’s 
favorite flowers. She stopped and plucked an 
armful of the dainty, fragrant blossoms. Elated 
with the thought of the surprise she had in store 
for her lover, she drove rapidly into town. It 
was already dusk. Jim Brandon might even then 
be at his office. She must not miss him now. In 
feverish haste she started for the Bugle office, the 
primroses crushed to her bosom. 

As she turned the corner and came in sight of 
the office a little cry of gladness escaped her. A 
light gleamed in the window. He was still there. 


232 


THE KANSAN 


Then, all at once her throbbing heart stood still 
and she stepped into the friendly shadows. What 
was that form moving stealthily toward the door 
on the side street? A woman? Yes, the moon¬ 
light revealed that. The form had paused at the 
door, then the door opened and the woman passed 
inside. It was plain that Jim Brandon was ex¬ 
pecting this caller. With a lump in her throat 
and the primroses pressed to her breast, she 
waited. Her vigil was soon rewarded. The form 
reappeared, a woman weeping, hysterical. From 
her vantage point in the shadow Marion looked 
on as one in a trance. 

She saw Jim Brandon press the bank notes 
into the hand of the trembling woman, saw her 
arms reach up and grasp the lapels of his coat; 
saw him put her away from him and close the 
door; saw the clenched hands raised in the air 
and the shawl fall from the shoulders, revealing 
plainly in the moonlight, the tear-stained, tragic 
face of Mollie Smith! 

She smothered a faint cry and watched the sob¬ 
bing woman depart. For a moment she stood 
rooted to the spot, frozen dumb by the sight she 
had just witnessed. The wild primroses fell 
from her nerveless hands, their white petals glis¬ 
tening like snow at her feet. This, then, ex¬ 
plained all. Her suspicions had been well found¬ 
ed. Had she not seen him force the bills into 
the hands of the weeping girl and then put her 
away? The thought came to her that it was well 
that she had arrived when she did. Otherwise 
the reconciliation she had planned might have 
been realized. She shuddered. Her love could 
bear much, but not unfaithfulness. She glanced 
at the scattered primroses at her feet. Jim’s fa¬ 
vorite flowers? Emblems of innocence? The 


A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 233 


thought sickened her. She crushed the blossoms 
beneath her feet as she thought of the appro¬ 
priateness of the old lines: 

“A primrose by the river’s brim, 

A yellow primrose was to him— 

And nothing more.” 

So this was the end. Surely all was over be¬ 
tween them now. Then, as she turned to depart, 
a flood of emotion swept over her and her form 
shook with sobs. 

“Oh, Jim, Jim, how I have loved you, and to 
think that this is the end.’ ’ 

The fragrance of the crushed primroses be¬ 
neath her feet came faintly to her, as with bowed 
head and form rocked with grief, she left the 
scene which but a few moments before had pro¬ 
mised the fulfillment of her heart’s desire. 



PART THREE 

THE BUILDERS 















CHAPTER XX 


An Unwelcome Visitor 

For a time business depression followed the 
collapse of the great boom. Then came a change. 
Slowly but steadily Bison City began to forge 
ahead, this time along safe, conservative lines. 
Every move was now carefully considered, every 
step forward cautiously inspected. People 
learned that all was not lost, that the future held 
much of promise. Then came the real work of 
the builders. There was not alone the building 
of substantial homes and factories, paved streets, 
waterworks, electric lights and other evidences of 
a progressive community, but there was character 
building as well, the building of a reputation for 
civic pride, the establishing of credit, the plan¬ 
ning for a prosperity that would endure. 

Thus Bison City struggled on toward the light. 
Possibly not all her citizens realized the substan¬ 
tial advancement being made. Some did not even 
care, satisfied with the returning business activ¬ 
ity, but the real leaders had learned their lesson 
well and were careful. 

The state legislature had settled the liquor 
question by the passing of the prohibitory law, 
settled it at least so far as legislation was pos¬ 
sible. Rural communities promptly complied 
with the provisions of the law but in the larger 
towns there was much evasion. In Bison City 
the licensed saloon merely gave way to the fined 
“joints” where, behind swinging doors from the 
cigar stand blind in front, the white-aproned bar- 



238 


THE KANSAN 


tenders still dispensed their refreshments with 
immunity. The monthly fines collected regularly 
from these semi-public resorts passed through 
the hands of the police, the local courts and offi¬ 
cials, thus seldom reaching the city’s coffers. The 
situation furnished a rich field for graft and un¬ 
der these conditions Sam Sparks flourished and 
waxed fat and influential. From the political 
boss of Bison City, where his control was abso¬ 
lute, he soon branched out and became a power 
in the congressional district and in state politics. 
In matters of political appointments his word was 
all but law and he made and unmade men un¬ 
hindered during the absence of Congressman 
Hull. 

It was during this period of graft and corrup¬ 
tion that Skinner Smith returned from the East. 
He was an organizer of ability and was bothered 
with no scruples as to how he earned a livelihood. 
It was therefore only natural that he should soon 
become a lieutenant and tool of Sparks, who 
placed him in positions where he could be of the 
most service from time to time. Smith in a short 
time became a politician of some note. 

Mollie Smith had returned from Kansas City, 
where rumor had it that she had started in to 
study in a training school for nurses but had 
given it up when her father returned to Bison 
City, grew influential and had purchased a com¬ 
fortable, well-furnished home. There were other 
rumors not so complimentary, but Mollie Smith 
held her head high and confided in no one. What¬ 
ever her story she had lived it in the hard school 
of experience and kept her own counsel. 

Jim Brandon had long since resumed the pub¬ 
lication of the Bugle and the paper had kept pace 
with the growth of the town. His newspaper was 



AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 


239 


now a prosperous evening daily, printed in its 
own new office building with the latest machin¬ 
ery, operated by an alert force of energetic 
young men, organized and inspired by Brandon’s 
example. All was not plain sailing for the Bugle, 
however, nor for Jim Brandon, either. In spite 
of the state prohibitory law the saloons were still 
a menace to the fair name of Bison City and the 
brothels and gambling dens, although well under 
cover, were yet in evidence. 

Nor was this all. Sam Sparks had grown so 
powerful that his influence if exerted might prove 
a serious menace to the political fortunes of 
Brandon’s friend, Congressman Jason Hull. He 
was not as yet in open opposition to the congress¬ 
man, but it was suspected that the rumblings of re¬ 
volt over the district were largely due to his 
manipulations. 

Jim Brandon realized that Congressman Hull 
was growing old and that as he advanced in years 
he showed a decided tendency to cling to old 
methods which in no way met the approval of the 
progressive ideas advocated by the younger 
members of the party. He also knew that Sam 
Sparks was not animated by any such motives in 
his secret opposition, which was due to the fact 
that the congressman always backed the Bugle in 
its stand against grafting, the liquor traffic and 
the underworld in general. Yet with the pro¬ 
gressives restless and threatening to revolt, Jim 
Brandon felt sure that there was no question as 
to where Sparks would throw his influence at the 
proper time and that his opposition would prove 
a serious factor. 

Still another feature of the situation worried 
him. Since that fatal night when Mollie Smith 
had called at his office he had been unable to even 


240 


THE KANSAN 


speak to Marion Butler. She had utterly avoided 
him since that morning at the printing office. At 
first he had merely felt hurt, sure that in time she 
would at least grant him a hearing. But as days 
passed into months and there was no change in 
her attitude there was a feeling of injury and re¬ 
sentment, He had no knowledge of what had 
caused the change in her and he keenly felt the 
injustice of not being given a chance to defend 
himself or to inquire the cause of it all. There 
was a further disquieting factor in the person of 
a new attorney, Norman Asher, who was now a 
frequent visitor at the Butler home and was often 
seen in Marion’s company. 

This was but natural, Jim reasoned, as the at¬ 
torney had finally succeeded in forming a part¬ 
nership with Marion’s father and the new firm 
of Butler & Asher was flourishing. Still, the fact 
of the young lawyer being so often with Marion 
was far from pleasant. 

Jonathan Butler was prospering and happy. 
His dreams of fabulous wealth had long since 
vanished, yet he still had vision, energy, magnet¬ 
ism, and with the aid of his young law partner 
was coming rapidly to the front. He had given 
up the stately home of boom days and now occu¬ 
pied a modest little cottage on a quiet street in 
the suburbs, but the new home was paid for and 
this time was a home indeed. He was now build¬ 
ing his plans on the solid rock of integrity and 
square dealing and people rallied to his support 
in his stand for honest methods. They appre¬ 
ciated all he had done, the sacrifices he had made 
and his up-hill fight. They liked him. 

Still another of our old friends was prospering 
during these later years. George Washington 
Bean had given up his place as night clerk at the 


AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 


241 


Commercial hotel and was now on the road as a 
traveling salesman for one of Bison City’s larg¬ 
est wholesale houses. He had surprised even 
himself with the ability he had developed to make 
friends and incidentally friends for the firm he 
represented. He had blossomed out in even more 
gaudy raiment than when employed at the hotel, 
his passion for the latest in fashion and the loud¬ 
est in color never deserting him. 

Sample cases in hand, just arrived from an ex¬ 
tended trip over the trade territory to the south¬ 
west, he was met by Jim Brandon one evening on 
his way to the hotel. 

‘ 6 Well, hello, old-timer,” was Jim’s cheery 
greeting. “What’s the news?” 

Jim Brandon still depended upon Bean’s abil¬ 
ity as a reporter. 

“Plenty of news and it’s all bad,” said the 
lanky Bean, placing the heavy sample cases on 
the sidewalk. 

“Kidding again?” 

“No, I’m serious. It’s about politics. Jim, I 
am afraid our friend Hull is done for. I have 
been out all over the district and I’ve heard ’em 
talk. Believe me, the old man will have to play 
’em mighty close to his diaphragm if he pulls 
through this time.” 

“Will they attempt to defeat him for the nomi¬ 
nation, or wait until the election?” 

“They’ll bust him at the nominating convention 
if they can, and I think they can. If they fail at 
that, then the general election will be the last 
resort.” 

“No danger at the election. The party is too 
strong in this district to attempt anything of that 
sort. The nominee of the coming convention will 
be elected, no matter who gets it. ’ ’ 


242 


THE KANSAN 


“Look out for fireworks at the convention, 
then.” 

“George, I hardly think things are as bad as 
you claim. What has Mr. Hull ever done to war¬ 
rant such treatment?” 

Bean scratched his straw-colored locks for a 
moment. “Well, for one thing, he has grown old. 
He should not have done that, although most 
people do the same thing sooner or later, I’ve 
noticed. Further, he is a standpatter, and you 
know what that means these days. He is satis¬ 
fied to let well enough alone. The younger men 
are anxious to horn into affairs and they are go¬ 
ing to do it. More yet. Mr. Hull has always 
stood for honesty and decency in public affairs, 
two things our mutual friend Sparks welcomes 
about as enthusiastically as he would a case of 
smallpox. Get the idea?” 

“Yes, partially. But these young men, these 
progressives, are clean and honorable. They are 
not men of the Sparks ’ type. Why should they 
line up with Sparks?” 

“They won’t. But politics makes strange bed¬ 
fellows. Sparks will line up with them. That’s 
the way it will turn out. He is powerful. Don’t 
make the mistake of underestimating him. He 
is boss right now. He has built up a political 
machine that is so strong that many a man’s 
success or failure depends upon a word from him. 
Hull has made a mistake in giving Sparks such a 
free hand and will realize this in the near future. 
You know what rabbits politicans are. My pri¬ 
vate opinion is that Mr. Hull is a goner.” 

“I hope not. One thing is sure. I intend to 
stand by him to the finish. I know others who 
will do the same. When it comes to a showdown 
it will be no walkaway. ’ ’ 


AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 


243 


‘ 4 Look here, boy,” said Bean, earnestly, “I’m 
as loyal as yon ever dared be. It is not because 
I am unfriendly to Mr. Hull or that I underesti¬ 
mate your influence and that of your newspaper 
that I have told you these things. It is because 
I have been out where I heard people talk. It is 
not because the situation pleases me that I am 
telling you these unpleasant facts. If Hull wins 
the nomination this year it will be after the hard¬ 
est battle of his life. He is up against tremendous 
odds, that’s all.” 

i ‘I know how you stand, George. I am not 
criticizing you. But even if your surmises are 
correct, there is nothing gained by lying down. 
It means fight.” Jim’s eyes snapped. 

“That’s the talk. I’m with you and the con¬ 
gressman all the way. All I am saying is that 
you just get out over the district as I have done 
and if you don’t hear some things that will make 
your hair curl, then I’m a goat. I don’t usually 
howl like a coyote unless I see something to bark 
at.” 

“I’ve got to get in touch with Mr. Hull at 
once,” said Jim, soberly. “He should be here 
right away. I have seen this storm coming for 
sometime but had no idea it was so serious as 
your report indicates.” 

“You can’t get busy any too sudden, that’s 
my advice. But not changing the subject too 
abruptly, I have another news item of importance 
if you haven’t already heard it.” 

“What now?” 

George Washington Bean stepped up close to 
his friend and said in a low, dramatic voice: “It 
is reported up the line that there was a jail-break 
at Lansing yesterday and that Steve Osborn has 
escaped from the penitentiary.” 


244 


THE KANSAN 


“Steve Osborn!” 

“Careful, man. Don’t shout that name from 
the housetops. If the story is true we will have 
him with us as soon as he can get here. The 
sheriff has undoubtedly been notified and is keep¬ 
ing quiet, hoping to nab him promptly. A gen¬ 
eral alarm would only make Steve more cautious. 
We should confer with the authorities, verify the 
rumor and then shadow Sam Sparks.” 

“Why Sparks!” 

“Because Steve is sure to come to him sooner 
or later. He is in a desperate situation. Sam is 
his best and only bet. He will come to Sam for 
help.” 

“I believe you are right. What’s the particu¬ 
lars! When did he make his escape!” 

‘ ‘ I haven’t heard a thing except the rumor that 
he is out. I have kept rather quiet about even 
that. We must prepare to nab that bird as soon 
as he shows up. Lay low and surprise him. 
That’s my idea.” 

“All right. Go ahead with your plans. The 
Bugle will be missing a mighty good story but I 
am willing to do anything I can to put that out¬ 
law back where he belongs. Do you think he 
will be back here soon!” 

“Hardly by tonight, but surely before very 
long. In any event it will pay to be ready for 
him. ’ ’ 

The two friends parted, firmly resolved to do 
their utmost to capture the criminal at the ear¬ 
liest opportunity, yet not realizing that the oppor¬ 
tunity might present itself so soon. 

That evening in the gathering dusk a crouch¬ 
ing form sneaked out from the railroad yards and 
crept along the outskirts of the town, keeping 
well within the shadows. It was a hideous, des- 


AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 


245 


perate, emaciated form in prison garb that was 
torn to rags by brush and briars, a face repulsive 
with its unshaven beard, malevolent leer and bale¬ 
ful, glittering eyes of a hunted animal. It was 
thus that Steve Osborn returned to his old 
haunts, for the story of his escape from prison 
was true. 

He was ravenous with hunger, desperately 
afraid of capture, without arms or proper cloth¬ 
ing, an outcast, a veritable beast of the jungle 
with every man’s hand against him; no place to 
go and realizing full well that as soon as his 
escape became known the net of the law would 
begin to tighten about him. 

As he skulked through dark alleys and along 
in the deep shadows of fences and foliage his eyes 
were ever alert. Unarmed there was but one re¬ 
fuge in case of attack, that of flight. Cautiously 
he crawled through the shrubbery at the approach 
to the little bridge across Sand creek at Elm 
street. He felt sure that he would be able 
to intercept Sam Sparks on his way to his home. 
Here he lingered, waited impatiently, cursed or 
snarled savagely by turn. The hour was growing 
late. Up the street a dog barked. Steve Osborn 
started nervously. The moon was now rising, 
throwing a flood of mellow light into the open 
spaces and deepening the shadows. There was 
the thump of footsteps on the bridge. This had 
happened before but each time that pair of burn¬ 
ing eyes in the shadow had searched the passing 
pedestrian in vain and the form in the shadows 
crouched lower, passive. 

This time there was again hope within the 
breast of the watcher. There was something fa¬ 
miliar about that approaching form. As he 
crossed the bridge in the clear moonlight Sam 


246 


THE KANSAN 


Sparks was plainly revealed. He walked jaun¬ 
tily, shoulders back, head high, step firm and as¬ 
sured. 

Suddenly a snarl came from the bushes beside 
the road. Sam Sparks was startled by the sound. 
Something was unquestionably hidden there in 
the bushes. He felt jumpy and inclined to move 
away quickly when he heard his name called in 
a low, hoarse voice. 

44 Sam! ” 

As he looked the bushes parted a trifle and a 
face glared out at him, a hideous repulsive face 
that fairly made his blood run cold. He could 
hardly restrain the temptation to flee precipitate¬ 
ly. Again the voice: 

44 Sam, come here quick. It’s Steve. For God’s 
sake don’t desert me now. Come into the shadows. 
I must talk to you. Quick!” 

44 Steve!” gasped the frightened Sparks. 

4 4 Hush, man, not so loud. Come here. You 
must, and that before some one comes along and 
sees you. Come here!” 

Charmed as though by a snake, Sam Sparks 
obeyed. He was fascinated by those glittering 
eyes. Tremblingly he approached. Instantly 
Steve Osborn grabbed the hand of his old friend 
and dragged him into the deeper shadows. Then, 
turning, he spoke rapidly in subdued tones. 

44 No questions, Sam. There’s no time for 
that. Yes, I escaped and am as desperate as was 
ever a man in this world. I am starving, man, 
starving in these prison rags. You’ve got to 
help me. First I want food.” His teeth showed 
white as the fangs of a wolf as he snarled out 
this demand. 

Sam Sparks, frightened as he was, thought 
rapidly. To be caught aiding this outcast would 



AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 


247 


ruin his political chances. To even have it 
known that they had clandestinely met would he 
a powerful leverage against him. Promises were 
easily made. There was no way out of the pre¬ 
sent difficulty. Secretly he felt that he would be 
much safer with this outlaw again behind prisoif 
bars. 

“ You were foolish to come back here where you 
are so well known. Why did you do it? Thei 
will be sure to catch you.” 

“They will not,” snapped the convict, “unless 
you squeal. If you do that I’ll tear your heart 
out if I have to wait a hundred years. You asl 
why I came back here?” he hissed. “Where els< 
could I go? Who has grown fat on my money 1 
Who has flourished at my expense while I rottee 
in those hellish coal mines up at Lansing? I had 
to come here, Sam. I must have help and you 
are going to help me.’ ’ He grasped Sparks fierce¬ 
ly by the arm as he spoke. 

“Tell me just what you expect of me,” said 
Sparks, coldly. 

“All right, that goes. First I want food. Then 
I want some clothes, a gun and cartridges and 
some money.” 

“I can’t get these things for you tonight, it is 
quite late,” parried Sparks. 

“You can get the grub. I’ve got to have that 
now. I am ravenous. Get the rest of the things 
tomorrow.” 

“Where will I see you again? Do you dare 
risk discovery by remaining here long?” 

“I can take care of myself. Your home is not 
far away. Go now for the grub. When you come 
back I will have my plans made. I don’t ask you 
to take me in and protect me. You are too valu¬ 
able a man to become tangled up with a common 


248 


THE 


KANSAN 




convict.” This with a sneer. “Go on and hurry 
back with the food. In the meantime, I’ll think.” 

Sparks soon returned with some cold food, 
remnants from the evening meal. He was star¬ 
tled at the manner in which the starving man 
snatched the food. He watched him with wonder 
as he ravenously gulped it down like some wild 
beast. Sparks finally spoke. 

“Now, Steve, I must be going. It is best for 
both of us that we keep under cover. I can only 
aid you in case no one suspects our meeting. They 
may shadow me in case of the slightest suspicion. 
Quickly, now, what are your plans?” 

“I am not asking much. Some decent clothing. 
I can’t be seen in these rags. A few hundred dol¬ 
lars, enough to get me safely out of the country. 
A gun and some shells with which to defend my¬ 
self if worst comes to worst, that’s all I ask now.” 

“In case I am not watched and can get you 
these things, how will I deliver them to you? It 
will be risky business, Steve.” 

“I’ve thought of that. Fix the whole outfit up 
in a bundle. You have all day tomorrow to get 
it ready. Sometime tomorrow night place the 
bundle under the west end of the bridge there and 
leave the rest to me. ’ ’ 

“And how will you escape detection in the 
meantime, in case of a general alarm and 
search?” 

“Look here, Sam! Does that mean that you 
are going to squeal? It sounds like it.” He 
stepped close to his old companion. His manner 
was threatening. Sparks quickly hedged. 

“Squeal? Of course I’ll not give you away. 
But you seem to think that I am the only one in 
this town that will know you are here. The offi¬ 
cers may be on your trail right now for all you 


AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 


249 


know. I was merely wondering how you were 
planning to evade them. However, that’s your 
own lookout.” 

4 Wes, that’s up to me. I’ll take the chances. 
I have everything to gain and nothing to lose. In 
the meantime, all I ask is that you do your part. ’ ’ 

“I will do my best.” 

4 ‘See that you do. You’ve got brains. Use 
’em. I am desperate, more so than you will ever 
be. I want those things. I am going to have 
them. You’ll put them there at the bridge or 
see that they are put there. If you fail me, if 
you become weak-kneed and squeal—then God 
pity you, Sam, for I will have my revenge even 
if I swing for it.” 

“Leave it to me,” said Sparks, turning to go. 

“Yes, I’ll leave it to you,” hissed the outcast 
as he shook his clenched fist at the departing 
form. “Throw me down now, Sam Sparks, and 
you will never live to double-cross another 
friend. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XXI 


Under Cover of Darkness 

Early the following morning Jim Brandon had 
an unexpected caller at the Bugle office in the 
person of Mollie Smith. It was her first visit to 
the office since that eventful night some three 
years before when she had told her sad story. 
She thought of that time as she again entered the 
office. Her face flamed at the recollection, but 
her mission was urgent and she did not falter. 
Approaching Jim Brandon’s private office she 
rapped gently on the partly open door. 

“May I come inf” 

“Certainly. Why, it’s you, Mollie! What is 
so urgent that you come at this early hour?” 

“Are you all alonef” 

“Yes. Whyf” # 

“I have something important to tell you.” 

“I’m listening.” 

She stepped closer and spoke almost in a whis¬ 
per. 

“Steve Osborn is in town,” she said. Jim 
arose quickly. 

“In town now? Where?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Then how do you know that he is here?” 

‘ ‘ I saw him with my own eyes ? ’ ’ she shuddered. 

‘ 1 When ? ’ ’ 

“Last night at our house. I thought you 
would want to know.” She was trembling with 
excitement. 


250 


UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS 251 


/‘Tell me all about it,’’ said Jim, recovering 
his composure. 

“ There is not much to tell. I was sitting in 
my room, reading. It was quite late. I hap¬ 
pened to glance toward the window and there I 
saw such a face—his face. He quickly dodged 
out of sight. I couldn’t have been mistaken. His 
face was bearded but the sinister mouth and the 
malevolent eyes will haunt me forever. I didn’t 
sleep at all last night. Oh Jim, I am afraid.” 

“Even if it was Steve there is no cause for 
fear. He dare not harm you. He will be caught 
within a few hours if he is really in town.” 

“I am terribly frightened, nevertheless. My 
nerves are wrecked. If you had seen that awful 
face with its wicked expression, you would have 
been shocked, too. If he meant no harm, what 
was he doing there at that time of the night? I 
know that I am in danger. I have a strange pre¬ 
sentment of disaster. I cannot throw it off. What 
shall I do?” she asked, nervously. 

“Have you told this to anyone else?” 

“No.” 

“Then do not. It was probably Steve Osborn, 
all right. We have had word that he has escaped 
from the penitentiary but we hardly expected 
him here so soon. Do not be alarmed. We will 
have the house watched and if he appears in that 
locality again he will be promptly arrested. We 
will get him within twenty-four hours, now that 
we have reason to think that he is here. ’ ’ 

Mollie Smith was far from assured by Jim’s 
words. 

“Jim, I have a presentment that something 
dreadful is going to happen. I can’t explain it.” 

“A feeling of personal danger?” 

“Yes,” she almost whispered. 


252 


THE KANSAN 


Jim Brandon opened a drawer in his desk and 
drew out his compact little revolver, spun the 
cylinder, worked the hammer, then handed the 
weapon to Mollie. 

“Take this with you. Not that there is any 
likelihood of your having to use it but just for 
the feeling of security it will give. Can you 
shoot ?’’ 

“Yes, I have practiced with my brother’s gun 
at times when he was in from the range.” 

“Well, that gun is loaded, every chamber, so 
there is all the protection you will need. Point 
straight and shoot quick if you have to use it.” 

Mollie Smith hid the weapon within the folds 
of her cloak and started to go. 

“Thank you, Jim.” 

“You are welcome, but I don’t think you will 
have need of it. I am going out now to confer 
with some of the officers. Keep quiet and go 
about your duties as usual. With good luck we 
will have Steve Osborn in custody before this 
time tomorrow morning.” 

Jim Brandon went at once to the sheriff’s of¬ 
fice. He was surprised to find Sam Sparks there 
ahead of him in earnest conversation with the 
sheriff. 

“Come on in, Jim. It’s all right. Sam has 
some real news this morning. I have sent for 
Dave Fallon. When he gets here we can have a 
little conference. Don’t mind Jim,” he said to 
Sparks. “Jim is on the inside in this affair. 
Jim, Sparks says Steve Osborn is in town this 
very minute.” 

He expected Jim Brandon to show surprise at 
this information but was disappointed. Jim was 
not in the least excited. 


UNDEB COVEB OF DAEKNESS 253 


Turning to Sam Sparks, Jim asked: “Are you 
sure that Osborn is in town?” 

“I have reason to think he is,” the latter re¬ 
plied, coloring slightly. 

“What makes you think so?” 

“I have already stated my reasons to the 
sheriff,” Sparks replied, rather sharply, evident¬ 
ly not relishing Jim’s interference. 

‘ 4 He says he thinks he saw Steve skulking along 
in the dark as he was going home last night,” said 
the sheriff. 

Sam Sparks had evidently considered the mat¬ 
ter from all angles during the night and had de¬ 
cided that his safety lay in having Steve Osborn 
again behind prison bars. 

“I can go you one better, Sam,” said Jim, 
briskly. “I don’t think anything about it. 1 
know he is in town. Here comes Fallon. Better 
send for Bean if he is still in town. You can go 
now, Sam. Take good care of yourself and don’t 
get to thinking any thoughts that might get you 
into trouble.” 

Sam Sparks at once left the office. From his 
viewpoint he had done his full duty. He had 
cleared his own skirts by reporting Osborn’s ar¬ 
rival. It was now time to get out of the way until 
the storm passed. He had no desire to stay in 
Bison City while Steve Osborn remained at large. 
There were important political conferences need¬ 
ing his attention anyway. He hastened to the 
station and boarded the first train out of town. 

In the sheriff’s office definite plans for the cap¬ 
ture were being arranged. George Washington 
Bean arrived in answer to a hasty summons and 
after taking part in the conference decided to stay 
for at least one night’s adventure. All felt sure 
that the convict was securely hidden for the day 


254 


THE KANSAN 


and would not venture forth again until he could 
do so under cover of darkness. 

The news of the jail-break at Lansing and of 
Steve Osborn’s escape was known quite generally 
throughout the town but only those on the inside 
knew that he had actually been seen in Bison City. 

As night approached the officers and deputies 
held a final conference and were given definite in¬ 
structions. Then they separated. It was yet 
early in the evening when Jim Brandon strolled 
through the park and across the bridge at Elm 
street. He had his own opinions concerning the 
loyalty of Sam Sparks and felt that sooner or 
later the convict would put in his appearance 
near the Sparks home. 

He thought it too early in the evening for Os¬ 
born to venture forth but as a precaution he 
walked in the deep shadows, carefully on guard. 
Suddenly there was a slight rustling of the shrub¬ 
bery near the approach to the bridge. Instantly 
he was alert. Could that agitation have been 
made by a prowling dog? Was he foolish to give 
heed to such a slight matter this early in the 
evening? Vfas he losing his nerve at the begin¬ 
ning of the quest? All at once he stiffened where 
he stood in the darkness. Again there was a 
movement in the shrubbery. He slid further back 
into the shadows. It was growing quite dark. He 
could barely discern the shrubbery now. Making 
a stealthy detour he approached from the rear, 
the place where he had seen the bushes move. 
Carefully, in crouching attitude he moved for¬ 
ward. His eyes narrowed, the better to penetrate 
the gloom. He could see nothing. He was close 
now and decided to keep quiet and await develop¬ 
ments. 

His waiting was soon rewarded. Again the 


UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS 255 


branches moved and before him, peering out into 
the road, was the form of a man. There could 
be no doubt as to his identity. Who else but the 
escaped convict would be prowling around thus? 
Jim Brandon did not wait for help. With the 
spring of a panther he leaped on the crouching 
form. Both went crashing through the shrub¬ 
bery to the earth. There was a wolfish snarl and 
a smothered curse as the two men grappled in 
the dark. 

Instinctively they recognized each other and 
the struggle was on. Neither called out. Each 
reserved every ounce of effort for the fray. Over 
and over they rolled. In his weakened condition 
Steve Osborn soon began to lose ground. He 
felt that in the end his old enemy would conquer 
unless he resorted to strategy. They struggled 
now outside the shrubbery near the approach to 
the bridge. Osborn grew desperate. As he rolled 
over and his head touched the ground with a re¬ 
sounding thud, his hands suddenly released their 
hold and his form relaxed. Instantly Brandon 
stood over him, off guard, peering down into his 
enemy’s malevolent face. Quick as a flash the 
prostrate body came to life. The arms grasped 
Jim Brandon’s legs and before the latter realized 
his peril he felt himself raised by a mighty heave 
and hurled over the embankment while his crafty 
opponent took to his heels and was soon lost in 
the friendly darkness. 

Deeply chagrined but unhurt by his fall, Jim 
Brandon climbed back to the street. No one was 
in sight. He listened intently but could not even 
hear the sound of retreating footsteps. Steve 
Osborn had outwitted him. Nothing more was 
to be gained by remaining in that locality. He 
knew where to find Dave Fallon and the other 


256 


THE KANSAN 


watchers. He decided to go to them and report 
at once. It was still early in the evening. Con¬ 
certed effort now might end the quest. 

Fallon and the others listened eagerly to Jim’s 
story of the encounter. At its conclusion Fallon 
said: 

44 That settles it. He’s here. He must not get 
away. It is time to let everybody in on this deal. 
We will get him now if we have to rake this town 
with a fine tooth comb. ’ ’ 

Under the electric lights in the downtown dis¬ 
trict the little assembly of officials in earnest con¬ 
ference quickly attracted attention and a crowd 
was soon on hand. 

4 4 Gentlemen, ” said Fallon, turning to the in¬ 
quiring crowd, 4 4 you have heard of Steve Os¬ 
born’s escape from prison. I don’t mind letting 
you all in on this. He is in town right now and I 
want you to help us locate him. He has been in 
town since last night. We hoped to surprise him 
but that is hardly possible now, since Jim Bran¬ 
don has just had a struggle with him and he got 
away. ’ ’ 

The crowd looked at Jim inquiringly. His 
disheveled, dusty, torn clothing gave evidence of 
the truth of the story. 

4 4 Yes, I tackled him not half an hour ago. He 
escaped me by trickery. He feigned unconscious¬ 
ness and then in an unguarded moment he dumped 
me over the embankment at the Elm street bridge 
and took to his heels.” 

44 Were you armed!” asked an excited citizen. 

44 No, more’s the pity. Had I been armed there 
would have been a different story to tell. I 
should have killed that snake years ago.” Jim 
Brandon was hot with rage over his recent mis¬ 
hap. 4 4 No more convict hunting unarmed for 


UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS 257 


me. I have a long score to settle with that outlaw 
and I’ll settle it for good if we meet again.” 

“Steady, boy,” cautioned Fallon. “We will 
all work together and land our jailbird back in 
the penitentiary where he belongs. Don’t make 
useless threats.” 

“I am not making any,” said Jim, quietly, “but 
I promise you that if occasion again offers, Steve 
Osborn will not escape, that’s all.” 

The news spread quickly that Steve Osborn was 
in town and a general alarm was sounded. Armed 
citizens patrolled streets and alleys and search¬ 
ing parties looked carefully into every nook and 
corner. One crowd of men reported having seen 
a skulking form in the neighborhood of the Smith 
home but the figure vanished and no further trace 
could be found. 

When Jim Brandon heard this report he con¬ 
ferred with Fallon and a search of the Smith 
home was decided upon. Knowing of Osborn’s 
visit the previous night, Jim surmised that the 
convict, close pressed now, might seek aid by 
terrorizing Mollie Smith. 

The house was surrounded. Skinner Smith was 
indignant at thought of the proposed search. 

“Do you know that Osborn is not here?” de¬ 
manded Fallon. 

“Of course he is not here.” 

“Then why object to a search? He was last 
seen in this locality and near these grounds. No 
trace of him has been found since.” 

“Go ahead,” said Smith, opening the front 
door wide. “I’ll go with you. Are you search¬ 
ing all the houses in town?” 

“We will search every house where we think 
there is a possibility of Steve Osborn being se- 


258 THE KANSAN 

creted,” Fallon answered and promptly began 
the search. 

No trace of the criminal was found. At the 
door of Mollie Smith’s room the searchers halted. 

i ‘This is my daughter’s room,” said Skinner 
Smith. “Do you desire to enter there, also!” 

Mollie Smith was awake and dressed. Hearing 
the voices she partly opened the door. Jim Bran¬ 
don was the speaker. 

“Mollie, we have learned that Steve Osborn is 
in town. He was last seen near this place. As 
he was closely pursued we thought he might have 
sneaked into the house and concealed himself. 
Have you heard any strange sounds about the 
house this evening!” 

“No, I have heard nothing,” she replied in a 
faint voice. 

Jim attributed her pallor and extreme nerv¬ 
ousness to her fright of the night before. 

“No disturbance of any kind!” he asked, 
kindly. 

“Nothing, Jim,” she faltered, one hand clutch¬ 
ing nervously at her throat. 

“No need to search any further here,” said 
Jim, convinced that the convict had again eluded 
pursuit. There was something strange about 
Mollie’s actions and her look of appeal to him 
as she closed the door, but he had no time to 
analyze it then. Outside the house the searchers 
held a conference. 

‘ 4 There is no use of watching here any longer, ’ ’ 
asserted Jim. “Mr. Smith can keep watch and 
notify us by telephone if anything suspicious 
transpires. My idea is that the search should go 
on all over town but watchers should be doubled 
in the vicinity of the Sparks home. He will un- 


UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS 259 


doubtedly undertake to communicate with Sam 
before daylight. ” 

The search was continued and following Jim 
Brandon’s suggestion the guards were doubled 
in the vicinity of the Sparks home. 

Meanwhile there was much more to Mollie 
Smith’s agitation than appeared to the searchers. 
She had gone to her room early that evening, pre¬ 
pared to close the blinds and make things secure 
against possible intrusion. To her surprise and 
terror she beheld the window open, the sash 
raised. The cool night air was fanning the cur¬ 
tains. Suddenly she was seized by some one be¬ 
hind her and a grimy hand was placed across her 
mouth. 

“Keep still!” hissed a voice at her ear. 

Instinctively she knew the voice and with terror 
felt the fingers of the other hand reach for her 
throat. 

“If you attempt any fuss I’ll choke you to death 
right here. See!” 

He wheeled her suddenly toward him and she 
beheld Steve Osborn in all his unloveliness. She 
all but sw T ooned at the sight. 

“I am closely pursued,” he panted. “You’ve 
got to protect me, got to hide me here in this 
room and throw the searchers off the track. Will 
you promise?” He stood over her, desperate, 
hideous, threatening. He removed his hand from 
her mouth and glared at her savagely. Slowly, 
as though in a trance, she nodded her head. She 
was too frightened to speak. 

“Go close that window. I hadn’t time,” he 
ordered. 

Quietly the frightened girl obeyed. 

“Now turn down that light,” he commanded. 
“I hear voices outside. Calm yourself and get 


260 


THE KANSAN 


ready to act your part. If you give me away I 
will bide my time and some day tear you limb 
from limb! ’ ’ 

He stood before her, hands twitching, his wolf¬ 
like fangs showing between his tightly drawn 
lips. Again the frightened girl nodded. Her lips 
were dry, her voice inarticulate. 

Loud voices sounded in the hallway. Steve Os¬ 
born pressed his shaggy face close to hers and 
raised a warning finger. Then turning quickly 
he crawled beneath the bed where he lay quite 
still while the searchers questioned the terror- 
stricken girl. 

Long after the last of the searchers had de¬ 
parted, he lay hidden, the girl frightened beyond 
measure seated in a chair, her hands clasping and 
unclasping nervously. She could hear his steady, 
measured breathing. The hours dragged by, each 
like an eternity. Finally in subdued voice he said: 

“Put out that light altogether, I’m coming 
out.” 

Again she obeyed him. At his orders she 
sneaked softly to the pantry and brought him 
food which he bolted after the manner of a rav¬ 
enous dog. All was quiet about the house. It 
was now well past midnight. He opened the 
shutters and glanced out, cautiously. No one was 
in sight. His spirits mounted. He was almost 
cheerful. 

“Mollie, old girl, you’ve saved me this time 
and I am proud of you,” he whispered. 

She drew away from him with a shudder of 
horror. He grinned at her through his bristling 
beard. 

“Not much for beauty these days, am If” he 
said, with his old sneer. “Time was when you 
thought I was ace high. Going back on me now, 


UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS 261 


the same as everybody else, just because I am in 
hard luck? What’s the matter with you, girl? 
Lost your ¥0100?” 

“Oh, Steve, please go away,” she barely whis¬ 
pered. 

“Go away? You bet I’ll go away at the very 
first opportunity. I have only one friend left in 
this town. If he hasn’t gone back on me, there 
are clothes, money, a gun and ammunition wait¬ 
ing for me at the Elm street bridge right now. 
Once I get my fingers on that package and I’ll 
clear out for good. We will start for the bridge 
as soon as the moon lowers a trifle.” 

“We?” gasped the girl, in a hoarse whisper. 

“Sure. They may have a trap set for me but 
I am too foxy to step into it with both eyes open. 
I will remain out of sight and you will go to the 
bridge for the bundle. They will not catch me 
napping this time.” 

“Steve, spare me,” she pleaded. 

“Spare you? Girl think what I have endured 
since I went to prison. I’m free now and I am 
going to stay free. You shall help me this one 
time at least.” 

“You are not the only one that has suffered. 
Do you know all that I have been through since 
you left?” 

Steve Osborn glanced balefully at the trembling 
woman. 

“What has happened to you?” he sneered. 

“Haven’t you heard? Didn’t you know that I 
had to—had to go away,” she stammered. 
“Through Jim Brandon’s aid alone I escaped 
public disgrace. Oh, Steve, I have borne the dis¬ 
grace for our misconduct all alone.” She was 
crying softly now. 

“Cut out the weeps,” demanded Steve Osborn, 


262 


THE KANSAN 


unfeelingly. “I didn’t know and further I do not 
care. Evidently you are well out of the trouble. 
That’s more than I can say just now.” 

She was still sobbing softly. 

“The baby died, poor little unwelcome stran¬ 
ger,” she said between sobs. 

“Why worry over something that is past and 
can’t be helped?” he said, brutally. “The pres¬ 
ent is what is worrying me. Get ready. You 
are going with me now.” 

Obediently she arose and followed him cau¬ 
tiously through the hall and out the back way 
into the darkness. Tightly clutched within the 
folds of her cloak she carried the revolver Jim 
Brandon had given her. 

Skulking along through alleys and darkest 
places like a pair of ghouls they worked their 
way through the town toward the bridge. In the 
shadow of a warehouse at a corner nearest the 
bridge, Steve Osborn halted. 

“Go ahead now,” he commanded. “You will 
find a bundle underneath the west end of the 
bridge. Bring it to me at once. Then you are 
free to go. But don’t fail to bring that bundle,” 
he cautioned, savagely. 

The girl went forward alone, as directed. No 
one was in sight. Apparently no trap was set. 
The convict in the deep shadow of the warehouse 
breathed a sigh of relief. Sam Sparks had been 
square after all. 

Mollie Smith searched diligently in the dark¬ 
ness but found no bundle. She dreaded to return 
without it but there was no other alternative. Os¬ 
born, white with rage, watched her as she ap¬ 
proached empty handed in the waning moonlight. 

“There is no bundle beneath the bridge,” she 
said, hopelessly. 


UNDEE COVER OF DARKNESS 263 

“You lie!” he hissed. “Go hack there and get 
it. Listen, now, before you go. I must have the 
things in that package in order to escape. Every¬ 
thing depends on it. Sam Sparks promised to 
put them in a bundle beneath the west end of the 
bridge. You’ve got to find them.” 

“Then Sparks has failed you. They are not 
there.” 

“You hussy,” he hissed, “don’t dare stand 
there and lie to me. Go back and search thor¬ 
oughly. I am desperate enough to wring your 
life from you with these bare hands if you fail 
me. Daylight will soon he breaking. Go quickly 
and bring that bundle or suffer the conse¬ 
quences.” He was crazed with rage. His voice 
had the hiss of a snake. 

Again the distracted girl went forth and 
searched the ground beneath the bridge on hands 
and knees. No package was there. What should 
she do? If she ran away he would see her and 
probably pursue and attack her. He was des¬ 
perate enough for any act of violence. She de¬ 
cided it would be far better to return and try to 
convince him that Sparks had failed to keep his 
promise. Grasping the revolver concealed be¬ 
neath her cloak she started to return. 

Long before she reached the deep shadows 
where the convict was secreted she heard his 
choking snarl of rage and stood still, frozen with 
terror. Steve Osborn was approaching her, his 
hands working convulsively. It was a fatal mo¬ 
ment. She feared for her life. Jerking the wea¬ 
pon from beneath her cloak she pointed it squarely 
at the ragged, uncouth figure. 

“Stand back,” she commanded with trembling 
voice. ‘ 4 There is no bundle at the bridge. I have 


264 THE KANSAN 

searched every foot of the ground there. Sam 
Sparks—” 

“A gun!” cried Steve Osborn, hoarsely, as he 
halted momentarily. ‘ ‘ Where did you get it ? ’ ’ 

“I have had it with me all the time.” 

She was well out of his reach and determined 
to keep him away but was unprepared for his 
next move. 

“I need that gun and by God I am going to 
get it even if I have to choke you to death before¬ 
hand. ’ y 

The moon was down. There was no light save 
the stars, yet the terrified girl, weapon in hand, 
could still see Steve Osborn edging slowly nearer, 
crouching now with muscles tense, preparing to 
spring upon her. 


CHAPTER XXII 
What Daylight Revealed 


All night long the fruitless search for Steve 
Osborn went on. Daylight brought a sensation. 
A great crowd assembled and looked with morbid 
curiosity on the gruesome sight. An early pedes¬ 
trian had discovered the dead body of Steve Os¬ 
born in a ditch beside the warehouse near the 
bridge at Elm street. The manner of his death 
was a mystery save that it was due to a gun shot 
wound. A cursory examination of the body in¬ 
dicated that death had resulted several hours 
previously. He lay as he had fallen, in a huddled 
heap, his prison rags soaked in blood, a ghastly 
grin upon his unshaven face. 

The sheriff and Dave Fallon were among the 
first arrivals and kept the crowd back while a 
careful examination of the premises was made. 
Fallon found a revolver and gazed at it with a 
start of surprise. He examined it carefully, then 
slipped it in his pocket. His examination dis¬ 
closed that but one shot had been fired from the 
weapon. It was found some distance from the 
body, thus precluding the possibility of suicide. 
As further proof, a search of the body revealed 
no traces of powder marks. Still another thing 
the examination revealed. The bullet had en¬ 
tered the body low down on the left side, ranging 
upward toward the right shoulder, indicating 
that the shot had been delivered at close range 
by some one crouching low, possibly lying flat on 
the ground. Dave Fallon worked swiftly, seem- 


266 


THE KANSAN 


ingly taking in everything at a glance. This was 
the line of work in which he excelled. 

“ There was a woman here, sheriff. Her tracks 
are plain. And she ran away. Note the distance 
of those tracks. Could a woman have killed 
him ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Who knows ? ’ ’ replied the puzzled officer. 
“Are there any further clews? What about the 
gun?” 

“But one shot was fired from the gun,” replied 
the old plainsman, guardedly. “People in this 
locality claim to have heard a shot fired and a 
woman’s scream along before daylight. Only 
one shot, mind you. It may have come from this 
gun and it may not.” 

At the conclusion of the investigation and the 
recording of careful notes and measurements, the 
coroner assumed charge of the body and the 
sheriff, Dave Fallon and other officials repaired 
to the courthouse for a conference. Jim Brandon 
was not a member of the party. Having kept a 
close watch near the Sparks home until daybreak 
he returned to his rooms and threw himself on 
the bed for a short rest and was soon fast asleep. 
No one thought to awaken him when the body was 
found. 

At the sheriff’s office all was activity. Lawyer 
Norman Asher was in close consultation with the 
officials. With him Fallon had gone carefully 
over all the details of the scene of the tragedy. 

“What do you make of it all?” the sheriff fi¬ 
nally asked him. 

“Well, who would be likely to commit a crime 
like that? It was evidently not a case of suicide. 
What woman is there that would have any inter¬ 
est in a man like Osborn?” 

No one replied, so he continued: “Sparks 


WHAT DAYLIGHT REVEALED 267 


claimed to have seen Osborn. He and Brandon 
are the only ones in town known positively to 
have seen Osborn since his arrival. Could either 
of these men have had a motive for such an act?” 

“I think not,” said Fallon, coldly. “It might 
be well to call Sparks and question him, but as 
for Brandon, I was with him most of the night. 
He wasn’t near the warehouse except earlier in 
the evening when he had his encounter with the 
outlaw. ’ ’ 

“Yes, it would be well to interview Sparks at 
once,” said the lawyer. “In my opinion the kill¬ 
ing was done either by Sparks, a woman, or the 
owner of that gun. Did you ever see that wea¬ 
pon before?” 

“Yes, I think so,” replied Dave Fallon, quietly. 
“We will talk about that later, after we are in 
possession of more information.” 

In answer to the sheriff’s summons Sam Sparks 
appeared promptly, apparently greatly excited by 
the news of Osborn’s death. 

“How did it happen?” were his first words. 

“That’s what we all want to know. That’s 
why we have sent for you,” said the lawyer, 
quietly. 

“How should I know?” 

If Sparks was shamming he was certainly car¬ 
rying the part well. 

“Sparks, are you sure you know nothing about 
this tragedy?” sternly demanded the sheriff. 

“Absolutely sure,” Sparks replied. 

“When did you first hear of it?” 

“Upon my arrival in town this morning from 
an east bound train.” 

“When did you leave town?” 

“Shortly after I talked with you yesterday 
morning. ’ ’ 


268 


THE KANSAN 


“Can yon prove what you say, Sparks?” 

“I can and will if necessary, but why all this 
cross-questioning ?’’ 

“Because Steve Osborn is dead and we are try¬ 
ing to find out who killed him. I guess you are 
in the clear. You may go.” 

Coming downtown an hour later, Jim Brandon 
heard the news of Osborn’s death for the first 
time. With the keen instinct of a reporter he 
was soon in possession of all the essential facts 
so far as known, even to the finding of the re¬ 
volver. He felt sure from the casual description 
of a bystander that the gun found near the body 
was the one he had given Mollie Smith. 

With these facts in his possession it was easy 
for him to reach the conclusion that Mollie and 
her former lover had met, that he had threatened 
her and that in desperation she had shot him. He 
went at once to the warehouse where the body had 
been found. A crowd of curious people still lin¬ 
gered there, talking in subdued tones of the 
tragedy. Guards still kept the crowd back from 
the place where the body was found. The wom¬ 
an’s footprints were plainly visible. Jim looked 
the ground over carefully. There was no ap¬ 
parent sign of a struggle. 

He turned and walked slowly back toward the 
business section of the town, in deep study. Be¬ 
yond question he felt that Mollie Smith had fired 
the fatal shot. To his mind she was justified, but 
what would the law say? Would she be dragged 
into court and the whole sordid story of her love 
affair be aired, her reputation ruined even if she 
were fortunate enough to find favor with the 
jury? He alone knew the incident of the revolver. 
He could keep his own counsel about that and no 
suspicion need rest on the girl who had already 


WHAT DAYLIGHT REVEALED 269 


suffered much at the hands of the murdered man. 
Then he stopped still. A new thought flashed 
through his mind. 

The weapon was his. It had been found near 
the dead body. It would he identified. Besides, 
he had only the night before threatened the crim¬ 
inal in the heat of anger after his unsuccessful 
encounter. Would suspicion point toward him? 
He laughed at the thought. Still, the possibility 
of being questioned as to the ownership of the 
weapon worried him. Of course he would not 
deny ownership if questioned. How then was he 
to explain the fact that it was found near the 
murdered man? Well, if it came to that, he de¬ 
cided, he would attempt no explanation if it meant 
dragging Mollie Smith through the degradation 
sure to result from a trial. From this decision 
there would be no appeal. 

At the sheriff’s office the investigation was still 
in progress. Sparks had established an alibi. No 
clue could be found concerning the woman in the 
case. There remained only the revolver with its 
one empty cartridge. Again Attorney Asher 
brought up the matter of ownership. 

“Fallon, it seems to me that the revolver might 
help unravel this mystery. You have said you 
could possibly identify the weapon. Tell us who 
owns it.” 

For a moment the old scout hesitated. Then 
he said: “Unless I am greatly mistaken the gun 
belongs to Jim Brandon. I have no idea how it 
came to be near the scene of the tragedy.” 

“Jim Brandon!” exclaimed the attorney and 
the sheriff in one voice. 

“Yes, I feel sure it is Brandon’s gun. It might 
be well to send for him. Possibly he will be able 
to throw some light on the subject.” 


270 


THE KANSAN 


When Jim Brandon arrived he confronted a 
sober and extremely grave-faced body of men at 
tViP sheriff’s office 

4 ‘Jim,” said the sheriff, kindly, 44 we have sent 
for you to ask you some questions which we hope 
you can answer satisfactorily.” Jim felt that he 
knew what was coming. 

44 All right. Go ahead.” 

The sheriff produced the revolver and handed 
it to Jim. 

44 Do you recognize this gun?” was his first 
question. 

44 Yes, sir. It belongs to me.” 

4 4 This gun was found within a few feet of the 
body of Steve Osborn. Can you account for its 
being there?” 

4 4 No, sir. I have no positive knowledge of how 
it came to be there.” 

44 When did you last see this weapon?” 

4 4 It was in a drawer of my desk at the Bugle 
office several days ago.” 

44 Did you have it with you last night?” 

44 No. You will remember that in my encounter 
with Steve Osborn I was unarmed.” 

44 Yes, but later?” 

44 I did not have the gun at any time during 
last night.” 

4 4 Jim, you seem to know something about how 
this gun came to be where it was. You are hold¬ 
ing back information that we desire. Won’t you 
give us the facts so that we can proceed intelli¬ 
gently ? ’ ’ 

44 No,” he said, quietly, 44 I have nothing more 
to say.” 

44 Then that’s all for the present. You may go 
now but please wait in the outer office for me. 


WHAT DAYLIGHT REVEALED 271 


I may want to talk to you privately after this 
conference is over. ” 

After Jim departed the officials were quiet for 
some moments. 

4 ‘Well, gentlemen, what do you make of it?” 
finally inquired the sheriff. 

44 Brandon’s attitude puzzles me,” declared the 
attorney. 4 4 Last night he was heard to threaten 
the life of Osborn. He admits that the weapon 
found near the body is his. He declines to make 
any explanations. Those facts put together mean 
something. They mean that he either killed Os¬ 
born or knows something about who did do it. 
It is my opinion that he should be detained until 
he decides to clear up the mystery or else accept 
the consequences of his stubbornness.” 

44 What? Arrest Jim Brandon?” cried the 
sheriff. 44 That’s sheer nonsense. Brandon didn’t 
kill Steve Osborn. If he was guilty he would 
confess.” 

44 Probably true,” replied the lawyer, coldly, 
44 but if he didn’t do it he is evidently shielding 
the party who did, which amounts to much the 
same thing before the law.” 

44 What have you to say to that, Fallon?” in¬ 
quired the sheriff. 

44 I’ll say that I would rather cut off my right 
hand than arrest that boy for murder. He didn’t 
do it. There is no question in my mind about 
that. But this is his gun. I think he knows how 
it came to be found where it was. If he is shield¬ 
ing anyone he has a reason for doing so that is 
sufficient at least to him. ’ ’ 

4 4 That will not satisfy the law, ’ ’ argued the at¬ 
torney. 

44 That’s true,” admitted Fallon. 

For a few moments there was quiet. The 


272 


THE KANSAN 


sheriff was in a deep study. Finally he arose, 
evidently having made a decision. 

14 Dave, I guess you had better put him under 
arrest temporarily. Detain him here and see 
what effect it will have. There is no need of 
spreading the news of his arrest all over the town. 
Arrest him quietly and give him the freedom of 
the premises. He will not attempt to run away. 
I have my doubts about our accomplishing any¬ 
thing by this move but it is a precaution we are 
bound to take under the circumstances. ’’ 

Dave Fallon arose, deeply moved. He was 
showing signs of age and looked years older un¬ 
der the strain of the moment. He fumbled with 
his official badge with trembling fingers. Remov¬ 
ing it, he advanced, extending it to the sheriff on 
outstretched palm. 

“Sheriff, I haven’t the heart to do it. I can’t 
arrest that boy. I have never yet failed to obey 
orders. Here is my badge. I am ready to quit.” 

The sheriff’s eyes were moist. 

“He will take his arrest better from you than 
from anyone else. Put that badge back on and 
do as you are told.” 

Dave Fallon hesitated. Lawyer Norman Asher 
was an interested spectator. The sheriff mopped 
his forehead with a handkerchief. 

“I have been through some pretty hard ex¬ 
periences in my time but this is the hardest job 
I was ever asked to tackle,” faltered the old man. 
“That boy is innocent. I would stake my life on 
it. I have known him since boyhood and a 
squarer, more honorable young man never lived. 
Steve Osborn’s worthless carcass doesn’t justify 
all this fuss, anyway. If Jim had killed him he 
would have been a public benefactor. That’s mv 
opinion. ’ ’ 


WHAT DAYLIGHT REVEALED 273 


“Never mind, Dave. Go ahead and do as yon 
are requested. You can break the news to him 
as gently as anyone. It must be done. No doubt 
he realizes his situation better than any of the 
rest of us. ,, 

The old scout compressed his lips and turned 
to go. There were lines of deep suffering in his 
weather-beaten, rugged face. Jim Brandon was 
standing near a window at the further end of the 
corridor. Dave Fallon approached him with fal¬ 
tering step. Jim saw him coming and advanced 
with a smile. 

‘ 4 Investigation finished ? ’’ 

“Yes, for the present.” The old scout swal¬ 
lowed hard. There were tears in his eyes. 

“What’s the matter, Dave? You look wor¬ 
ried. ’ 9 

“I am worried, lad. The hardest task of my 
life is before me and I had just as well have it 
over w T ith. Jim, the sheriff has ordered your ar¬ 
rest,” he said with broken voice. The result of 
this statement was unexpected. Jim Brandon 
threw back his head and laughed heartily. 

“This is no joke, lad. I am in dead earnest.” 

“Of course you are, old friend. I can see that 
you are deeply grieved. Forget it. Everything 
will come out all right. I didn’t kill Steve Osborn, 
although God knows I have had provocation 
enough to do it. I don’t even know who did kill 
him. I have my suspicions but they are my own 
and shall so remain. I know my actions will be 
criticized. I have been expecting you, waiting 
for you in fact. The law must be satisfied. If my 
arrest is required I offer no protest. It’s all 
right. ’ ’ 

“Jim, it is not all right. Steve Osborn was not 
worth all this bother, dead or alive. I wish now 


274 


THE KANSAN 


that I had plugged him that morning down in the 
Wichita mountains. It would have saved a lot of 
trouble. ’ ’ 

“Come now. What’s the next move?” asked 
Jim, cheerfully. “I am now under arrest I pre¬ 
sume. Do I go to a cell and wear handcuffs ?’ 9 

“Not by a damned sight! You are to have the 
liberty of the premises. I will personally vouch 
for your appearance whenever required. You 
may be released under bond if you don’t mind 
the publicity but the sheriff says no announce¬ 
ment of your arrest will be made at present.” 

“I am all right. Just let things stand as they 
are. ’ ’ He went up and took his old friend by the 
hand. “Don’t worry, Dave. I am not guilty and 
they will get no information from me, if that’s 
what they are after.” 

“But Jim, you don’t deserve such treatment. 
Your record in this community is above reproach. 
If that dude lawyer hadn’t butted in I believe I 
could have handled the sheriff all right and 
avoided all this. It is a shame and a disgrace.” 

4 ‘ I am not attaching any blame to the sheriff or 
to anybody else. I am in a position where I am 
not at liberty to explain even what little I know. 
I am not worrying. ’ ’ He patted his old friend on 
the shoulder. 

“One favor though, if you can grant it?” 

“Anything you want, Jim. Just name it,” said 
the scout, eagerly. 

“I wish you would send for Wash Bean if he 
is still in town. I want to talk to him about af¬ 
fairs at the Bugle office.” 

In a few minutes Bean entered, anxious, alert. 

“Come over here. I want to talk to you pri¬ 
vately,” Jim called. 


WHAT DAYLIGHT REVEALED 275 


“All right. What’s the big news story since 
this morning’s sensation?” 

4 ‘Nothing, only that I am under arrest in con¬ 
nection with the aforesaid sensation,” said Jim, 
dryly. 

“Sufferin’ cats! You don’t mean it? Why? 
When? What for?” stuttered Bean. 

“Dave Fallon will tell you all about it. It is 
nothing serious. What I want you to do is to go 
down to the Bugle office and tell the boys to go 
right ahead with the paper. Tell them to cover 
the murder story the best they can and that I am 
detailed on the case and may not show up for a 
day or two. You can do the job diplomatically. 
Will you do this for me?” 

“Yes, and a thousand times more if the chance 
offers, but Jim, I don’t get the drift of things. 
You don’t really mean that you are under ar¬ 
rest?” 

‘ ‘ I mean exactly that. My gun was found near 
the body this morning. I admitted it was my gun 
but refrained from giving any explanation, for 
which I had good reasons. Hence I am detained. 
I guess that is the word. It sounds better than 
being arrested, anyway.” 

“Are you sure no serious consequences will 
result from this mix-up?” 

“I think not. Anyhow I am taking the chances. 
You are at liberty to come here to see me at any 
time, but go down to the Bugle office and deliver 
my message first. The boys will be wondering 
what is wrong.” 

“Sure I will go. If worst comes to worst I’ll 
run the old shop myself for a few days, provided 
I don’t get mobbed or hung or something. I 
really wasn’t cut out for a journalist. Anything 
else, Jim?” 


276 


THE KANSAN 


“Nothing. The sheriff has stated that my ar¬ 
rest will not he made public for the present. I 
really do not care much one way or the other. If 
from any cause you think it necessary to refer to 
my arrest, do so with perfect freedom. It will be 
all right with me.’ ’ 

“All right, I’m off. I will be back to see you 
frequently. Here’s good luck and the hope that 
you will pull out of this promptly and safely.” 

After Bean’s departure, Jim Brandon shrug¬ 
ged his shoulders and walked up and down the 
long corridor. 

“Under arrest,” he mused. “I wonder how it 
is all coming out? I wish I knew.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


Applying the Pressure 

In the private office of the firm of Butler & 
Asher a select crowd of political leaders were 
holding a conference. The air was heavy with 
tobacco smoke. Prominent leaders from over the 
district were in attendance, mostly young, ener¬ 
getic, ambitious men. They came at the sugges¬ 
tion of Sam Sparks, acknowledged political boss, 
whose influence was powerful and whose political 
sagacity was unquestioned. Sparks’ words were 
listened to with respect. With him was his 
trusted lieutenant, Skinner Smith. Jonathan 
Butler, sedate and smiling, listened to the reports 
with much interest. A new member had been ad¬ 
mitted to the inner circle in the person of Norman 
Asher, the rising young attorney and partner of 
Jonathan Butler. 

“ Gentlemen, the time has arrived for a 
change,” Sparks declared with an air of finality. 
“I have stood by Hull all these years but we are 
now at the parting of the ways. We had a close 
call with him at the last election. We can’t put 
him over again. As for me, party success is the 
first consideration and no man’s personal am¬ 
bitions should be permitted to stand in the way. 
Isn’t that right?” 

“Does Hull intend to ask for the nomination 
again?” inquired a district delegate. 

“Of course he does. Did you ever know a 
politician to quit of his own accord? Hull is 
growing old. He is set in his ways. He is also 

277 


278 THE KANSAN 

forgetting his friends. That sort of thing can’t 
last.” 

Sam Sparks was crafty. He was too smart to 
openly charge Hull with interfering with his 
political graft. With Hull deposed there was a 
fair chance of continuing his present methods, 
otherwise he felt his power slipping. All indica¬ 
tions pointed to an approaching clean-up of Bison 
City, a thing Sparks could be counted on to oppose 
by every means at his disposal. 

“Well, if Hull must go, wdio will we select as 
his successor?” asked one of the district leaders. 

“That’s what w^e are here to decide,” replied 
Sparks. “That question should be answered here 
and now. If the right man can be found we can 
slip the word out over the district and handle the 
convention easily.” 

“It may not be so easy, Sam,” cautioned Jona¬ 
than Butler. “Never underestimate your oppo¬ 
nents. Jason Hull is a fighter, every inch of him, 
even in his old age. He has friends who will go 
with him to the last ditch. Jim Brandon is one 
of them and his newspaper is now more powerful 
than ever.” 

“Just give me the candidate I want and we will 
put him over all right,” asserted Sparks, confi¬ 
dently. 

“Who is your man?” ventured one of the 
crowd. Sparks felt that it was time to show his 
hand. 

“The next congressman is right here in this 
room, gentlemen, if he will permit us to use his 
name.” This announcement caused a decided 
stir. “Gentlemen, our next congressman should 
be Norman Asher, of Bison City.” 

There was much hand-clapping. Norman 
Asher’s face flushed, then grew pale. 


APPLYING THE PRESSURE 279 


“Sam, you have mentioned this matter to me 
before but I always thought you were joking. 
Don’t carry a jest too far.” 

“This is no joke, Mr. Asher. You are not only 
my choice but the choice of most of the progres¬ 
sive leaders over the district. I speak advisedly.” 

“Asher, it is the chance of a lifetime,” assured 
Jonathan Butler, positively. “You are young, 
highly educated, a good mixer and have made 
good in this country. The boys really want you 
for their standard-bearer. If I were in your place 
I should accept.” 

‘ ‘ I am a comparatively new man in this district 
and in local politics,” protested the young lawyer. 

“All of which fits you for our representative 
in congress. We need new blood. This country 
is just beginning to realize its possibilities. I am 
of the older crowd but I still have vision enough 
to see some of the things that are coming. This 
is the age of the permanent builders. We stand 
at the threshold of a wonderful era. Shall I fore¬ 
cast for you?” 

“Go ahead,” shouted the politicians. Jonathan 
Butler was always interesting. 

“Well, for instance: The automobile is just 
coming into use. Think of the day when nearly 
every family will have its touring car. Distance 
will be annihilated. At present there are only 
a few rural mail routes. The day will come when 
every farmer in this district will have his mail 
delivered daily at his own door. I predict that 
interurban electric cars will soon be running 
where formerly the old prairie schooners plowed 
through the mud. Rural telephone lines will be 
extended. There even may be aerial passenger 
and mail routes within our day. Stranger things 
than that have happened. Farming will be more 


280 


THE KANSAN 


diversified, intensive. Land values will steadily 
increase. All this means bigger towns, more 
factories, greater business. We are building for 
these things today, whether we realize it or not. 
They are coming. That’s why I say we should 
have a representative in congress capable of keep¬ 
ing step with this forward movement. A young 
man like Asher will make good. I am for him.” 
Again there was hearty applause. 

“Understand me, gentlemen,” he continued. 
“I am not against Congressman Hull on account 
of his stand for law and order. In that he is right 
and no man can adopt any other course these days 
and expect permanent success. My opposition 
to Hull is based solely upon his advancing years 
and consequent lack of vision.” 

This line of argument was not particularly 
pleasing to Sam Sparks, but he was astute enough 
to know that a valid excuse must be given for a 
change, therefore he offered no opposition, firm 
in the conviction that he would be able to safely 
handle Norman Asher when the time came. 

“Come, Asher, give us the word and we’re off. 
What do you say?” 

Asher hesitated. “Gentlemen, I appreciate 
this honor, but candidly, I have no political aspi¬ 
rations. I like this country. I like the people and 
have enjoyed living among them ever since I came 
west. I do not object to the expense the campaign 
will entail, but really I would much rather remain 
in Bison City and practice law than to become 
mixed up in the hurly-burly of politics. Frankly, 
that’s how I feel about it.” 

“But you haven’t said you would not accept 
the nomination,” said Sparks, blandly. 

“No. But there is one matter that should be 
considered seriously. Mr. Butler has already re- 


APPLYING THE PRESSURE 281 


ferred to it. That is the opposition of the Bugle. 
Is there any way in which Brandon could be won 
over in case I accepted the nomination? I’d 
rather not have the Bugle’s opposition.” 

“I think I can arrange that,” replied Sparks, 
with assurance. “Say you will stand for the 
nomination. I think I have a plan that will bring 
Brandon and his newspaper into line. We can 
win without him but I’ll admit it would be more 
of a cinch if the Bugle was with us. Say the big 
word, Asher.” 

The attorney still hesitated and glanced from 
one face to another. All were anxious, expectant. 

“All right, gentlemen, you are on,” he said, 
finally. “I am not keen for this thing. Honestly, 
I don’t care a rap, but if you insist on my making 
the race, I am game.” 

The politicians applauded heartily, then crowd¬ 
ed around him, shook his hand and promised him 
their support. Sam Sparks was in high spirits. 
Jonathan Butler bubbled with enthusiasm. 

“Boys, get busy and pass the word out over 
the district quietly,” advised Sparks. “We can 
control the convention easily. All we needed was 
a leader. Now we have one to be proud of. Hull 
will not be home for some time yet. By the time 
he arrives we will have the cards all stacked and 
ready to deal.” 

“It looks like a cinch,” said Skinner Smith, 
rubbing his hands together and smiling approv¬ 
ingly. 

“I think I will go now and have a little talk 
with Brandon. If I can line him up, the deal is 
as good as finished,” said Sparks. 

4 4 1 would be careful how I handled him if I were 
you,” cautioned Jonathan Butler. 44 Jim Bran¬ 
don is not one of the kind that lines up easily. We 


282 


THE KANSAN 


have had experience with him in times past.” 

But Sam Sparks was elated. The success of 
his plans thus far made him over-confident. He 
had heard of Brandon’s arrest, through Norman 
Asher. He went direct to the courthouse. He 
found Jim Brandon sitting by a window in the 
corridor, reading a copy of the Bugle, fresh from 
the press. 

“Are you too busy to talk to me for a while?” 
asked Sparks, with an ingratiating smile. 

“I was never less busy in my life than I am 
right now. What’s the matter, Sam?. Any news 
developed concerning the Osborn affair?” 

He had been fearful that Mollie’s connection 
with the tragedy would become known in some 
way, therefore hourly expected the unfavorable 
news. 

“Nothing new in that line. I would like to talk 
politics with you. I know we have seldom agreed 
in the past but that is no reason why we should 
not do so in the future. ’ ’ 

Brandon was on guard at once. He knew that 
Sparks was secretly disloyal to Hull but was 
hardly prepared for the disclosure to follow. 

“We have each at least stood by Congressman 
Hull in times past and I can see no reason why 
we should not continue to work together to fur¬ 
ther his interests, if that is what you mean,” Jim 
answered, prepared for battle. 

“That is exactly what I w T anted to talk to you 
about. Jim, I am satisfied in my own mind that 
Hull is impossible as a candidate this year. You 
know I have stood by him in the past, but condi¬ 
tions have changed.” 

“Yes, you have backed him because it was to 
your interest to do so. Now, you probably think 


APPLYING THE PRESSURE 283 


you would thrive better under a new chief. Is 
that the idea?” 

“It is not,” said Sparks, positively. “You 
misjudge me. I doubt if we could win with Hull 
even if he could secure the nomination. I am in 
close enough touch with district politics to know 
that he will not be nominated. I can’t stem the 
tide that has set in against him. Neither can 
you. What is the use of us leading a forlorn 
hope and going down to sure defeat?” 

“Well, for one thing, it is a matter of principle 
with me, although I presume you are too much 
of a politician to grasp that,” retorted Jim. “I 
have stood by him and he has befriended me all 
these years. So long as he decides to stay in the 
race I shall support him, even if he goes down 
and out. He is square and honorable, always has 
been, always will be. Isn’t that the real trouble, 
Sam? Isn’t he interfering with some of your 
plans ?’’ 

Sam Sparks winced at this direct shot but con¬ 
tinued smiling. He had not come for a row. He 
was out for harmony. 

“No, you are wrong about that. The people 
want a new deal, politically. I’ll admit I think 
they are right about it. But the main fact is that 
they are going to have it, regardless of what you 
or I say or do, so it’s me for the bandwagon.” 

“All right, jump for a front seat. I propose 
to stay where I am. Sam, you are not fooling me 
by all this talk. Who will be your candidate?” 

“I have no choice,” replied Sam, meekly. “I 
hear there is a pretty insistent demand that Nor¬ 
man Asher should make the race this year.” 

“Why Asher?” 

“Well, he is young, smart, a good mixer, has 


284 


THE KANSAN 


plenty of money and has not been tangled up with 
local politics. Aren’t those strong points?” 

“Yes, Asher will prove a formidable candi¬ 
date. ’ ’ 

He had heard rumors of Asher’s candidacy be¬ 
fore. Encouraged by Jim’s words, Sparks con¬ 
tinued : 

“Jim, you ought not to be here under arrest. 
I do not believe you are guilty. ’ ’ 

“That is one point on which we agree. I don’t 
even believe it myself.” 

This was lost on Sparks, who was approaching 
the real object of his visit. 

“Why. not let me arrange for your release, 
under bond if you desire that, or absolute release 
if you want it that way? I have pull enough to 
arrange it.” 

“Yes?” 

“More than that, Jim. If you would only act 
sensible and come along with us, Asher’s services 
would be at your disposal and a good lawyer 
might come in very handy before this Osborn 
affair is cleared up.” 

“Any other inducements?” 

Sparks should have been warned by Jim’s loss 
of color and tightening lips, yet he went glibly 
on. 

“Yes, there is more if you will listen.” 

‘ ‘ Go on, I want to hear it all. ’ ’ 

“You have had an uphill fight all your life. 
I have, admired your loyalty and your fighting 
spirit. Many’s the time I have wanted to help 
you but you wouldn’t let me. You have always 
chosen the rocky road of independence. I am 
not trying to dictate to you now. I am only of¬ 
fering a suggestion. This political revolt is sure 
of success. Why not take the easy, profitable 



APPLYING THE PRESSURE 285 


road for once in your life? I can get you out of 
here in thirty minutes if you say the word. More. 
If you will only come with us I give you my word 
I will be in a position to land you a good federal 
appointment, one that will be worth while.” He 
paused, expectantly. 

“And in return for these favors all I have to 
do is to line up and climb on the bandwagon ?” 

“That’s all,” said Sparks, cheerfully. “Leave 
the rest to me.” 

Jim Brandon arose hastily, the copy of the 
Bugle crushed in his hand. 

“Sam, won’t you ever have any political sense? 
Must you always work by bribery and graft? 
Don’t you yet know any better than to attempt 
that sort of thing with me ? Haven’t you learned 
anything at all by past experience?” 

“Now hold on, Jim. Don’t go to getting sore. 
No offense was meant.” 

“Sure not. Such an offer might not be offen¬ 
sive to you. I am not going to remain under ar¬ 
rest very long, but I can tell you flat that even 
if I was, I would rather rot in that little old jail 
back there for the rest of my life than go back 
on a friend. I would rather be a hobo asking for 
a handout than to sell my political opinions for 
an appointment.” 

“'You are getting sore over nothing. I was 
merely trying to help you. ’ ’ 

“I don’t need that kind of help. You are not 
fooling me in the least with all this chatter. I 
know you have made money out of politics and 
I know how you made it. More than that, I know 
your best picking is about over in that line. If 
you do not already know it I might inform you 
that it is only a matter of hours now until the 


286 


THE KANSAN 


joints, gambling balls and brothels in this town 
will be raided and closed up for good.” 

At this Sam Sparks became excited and the 
smile that had been on his lips turned to a snarl 
through which his teeth showed. 

“It is coming,” Jim continued. “Have you 
read this evening’s paper? During the search for 
Steve Osborn the other night many reputable 
citizens obtained their first insight into some of 
the workings of the crooks of this town. A gen¬ 
eral clean-up is planned. Bootleg booze is going 
out for keeps even if it takes the state’s metro¬ 
politan police to do it. With booze will go the 
brothels and the sure-thing games. Hull has so¬ 
licited state aid. Sam, the game is up and the 
rake-off on fines is about over. Hull may have 
to pay the penalty for bringing on this square 
deal, but don’t come to me with any fairy tales. 
I know what’s the matter with you!” 

“Fool!” sneered Sparks. 

“There are others,” retorted Jim, hotly. “Do 
you think I do not know who has been responsible 
for working up all this sentiment against Mr. 
Hull, and why? You did it, you snake, and then 
you have the nerve to come wiggling in here to 
me with your slimy methods. You may down Mr. 
Hull as you have boasted, but he will not go down 
without the people of this district knowing the 
reasons for the attack.” 

“I have given you your chance,” said Sparks, 
boiling with rage. “I really wanted to do you a 
favor and this is wliat I get slammed in my face 
in return.” 

“Keep your favors until called for after this. 
I have never asked your aid and I never shall, 
even should Hull go down. But before he goes, 
don’t forget that your grafting machine is due 


APPLYING THE PRESSURE 287 


for one of the worst jolts it has had in years. 
Your rake-off from fines from now until after the 
election will he mighty slim. I know that hits 
you on a tender spot.” 

“All right, sir,” said Sparks, savagely. “It 
appears that nothing but a fight will satisfy you. 
You have made the challenge perfectly clear. I’ll 
see that you get all the fight you can comfortably 
care for. If it is open warfare you want you will 
get it from now on so far as I am concerned.” 

“There is evidently no misunderstanding be¬ 
tween us now,” replied Jim, evenly, “so get out 
of here and get busy as soon as you like.” 

“I am at least at liberty to go whenever I care 
to,” snapped Sparks as he started to leave. 

“Well, I am not that fortunate just now, but 
after all I wouldn’t trade places with you, Sam. 
Think that over.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 
Open Confession 

George Washington Bean was worried and 
plainly showed it. He knew that Jim Brandon 
had no connection with the death of Steve Os¬ 
born yet there was clearly something about the 
revolver episode that Jim was holding back, 
something so important that he preferred arrest 
rather than make the disclosure. He was in deep 
study over the perplexing situation when he met 
Mollie Smith. It was a chance meeting. Fate 
may have had something to do with it. 

It was on the afternoon that Sam Sparks at¬ 
tempted to induce Jim Brandon to desert Con¬ 
gressman Hull. Events might have eventually 
transpired much the same, but the unexpected 
meeting assuredly expedited matters. 

Mollie Smith had always been attractive in the 
eyes of George Washington Bean, ever since those 
first days at the Willow Creek school, but when¬ 
ever opportunity had appeared to gain her good 
graces, Bean’s courage invariably had failed him. 
He was no lady’s man, anyway. 

This particular afternoon Mollie looked tired, 
distressed. On first sight Bean attributed this to 
the tragic ending of Steve Osborn’s career. Mol¬ 
lie also noticed Bean’s worried look. 

“What’s troubling you, George?” she asked. 
“ You look like you had lost your last friend.” 

“I’ve sure lost my best one for the time being, 
at least.” 

“Truly?” 


288 


OPEN CONFESSION 


289 


Bean made a sudden resolution. 

“Mollie, can you keep a secret?” 

“Yes, I think so. I have kept several,” she 
replied, sadly. 

“All right. Then listen and I’ll tell you some¬ 
thing. Jim Brandon is under arrest for that Os¬ 
born affair. They pinched him after the investi¬ 
gation this morning. Things may go rough with 
him, too. That’s why I am worried.” 

Mollie Smith showed intense interest. Step¬ 
ping close to him she said excitedly: “You must 
be joking. Jim Brandon had nothing to do with 
Osborn’s death.” 

“I know that, but he is under arrest just the 
same. I don’t understand it at all. You see 
Jim’s revolver was found near Osborn’s body. 
One chamber had been fired. Jim admits that it 
was his gun but refuses to say how it got there.” 

Mollie Smith turned white at this and her nerv¬ 
ousness increased. 

“Is Jim really in danger?” 

Bean, glad of her show of interest in his 
friend’s situation, decided to make the case ap¬ 
pear as interesting as possible. 

“Of course he is in danger when he is under 
arrest. There is more than the revolver episode. 
The night before, he threatened to kill Steve Os¬ 
born at sight. Many heard him. Most of the 
night he was out with friends searching for Os¬ 
born, but not all the time. Part of the time he 
was alone. Now we both know Jim Brandon 
didn’t kill Steve. If he had he would not have 
been fool enough to have thrown down his gun 
and left it there. But how in thunder did his gun 
come to be there? Why won’t he explain if he 
knows ? ’ ’ 

“Perhaps I know,” said Mollie Smith, almost 


290 


THE KANSAN 


in a whisper. Bean noticed that she was trem¬ 
bling and greatly agitated. 

“Well, what’s the answer?” 

Mollie placed a nervous hand to her forehead 
and reeled, almost fainting. 

“What am I saying?” she cried, hysterically. 
“I don’t know the answer. I am shocked to learn 
that Jim Brandon is in trouble. ’ ’ 

“Yes, he’s sure in bad,” asserted Bean, puz¬ 
zled at the strange actions of the girl. “I’d hate 
to see Jim hanged just for a worthless cuss like 
Steve Osborn.” 

“Hanged? Oh, George, such a thing is impossi¬ 
ble.” 

6 ‘ Why impossible ? I know he has good reasons 
for the stand he has taken. He is possibly shield¬ 
ing some one, but why? He is stubborn and if 
he persists in his present course there might be 
such a thing as hanging, or at least imprisonment 
for life.” 

“You frighten me dreadfully,” said the girl. 

“I am frightened myself,” he replied. He 
rather enjoyed the dramatic situation his imagi¬ 
nation had created. 

“I must go,” said Mollie Smith, hurriedly. 
“We should find some way to save Jim Brandon. 
He is my friend, too. I must think over what you 
have told me. Must I keep your words absolutely 
secret?” 

“I wouldn’t advise telling the whole town about 
it, but if you think of any plan that might help 
Jim out of his predicament, I can’t see any reason 
for keeping still.” 

‘ 1 Goodbye, George. I am glad you told me. If 
you hear anything more, let me know.” As she 
turned to go she asked, apparently as an after- 


OPEN CONFESSION 


291 


thought: “Has suspicion rested on anyone be¬ 
sides Jim Brandon ?” 

“Not so far as I have been able to learn/ 1 re¬ 
plied Bean. 

Mollie Smith hastily departed. She was great¬ 
ly worried by what Bean had told her. She knew 
the answers to his questions and had come very 
near to betraying herself. She knew why Bran¬ 
don refused to explain the mystery of the re¬ 
volver. He evidently thought that she had com¬ 
mitted the murder and was shielding her. What 
should she do? That was the question that wor¬ 
ried her. Rather than see Brandon suffer for a 
crime of which he was innocent she decided that 
she would confess in open court. That meant dis¬ 
grace, possibly a probing of all the old wounds, 
a public scandal, but Brandon had befriended her 
in time of trouble and she resolved that he should 
not suffer on her account. 

She longed for some one in whom she could con¬ 
fide, some friend to whom she could go for advice. 
Suddenly she thought of her old school friend, 
Marion Butler. Since the whisperings and gossip 
about her sad love affair, Mollie had had few 
friends. Marion had shown a decided coldness, 
had purposely avoided her. This attitude, al¬ 
though it wounded Mollie deeply, she accepted as 
a merited penalty for her waywardness and suf¬ 
fered without protest. But in this crisis she need¬ 
ed some one to help her. She decided to see Mar¬ 
ion at once, and if permitted, to make a full and 
free confession. 

She realized that no halfway measures would 
do now. She faced the alternative of remaining 
silent now and later facing the whole sordid affair 
in court, or making an open confession to Marion 
in the hope of finding a way out. There was no 


292 


THE KANSAN 


time to lose. Bean’s lurid tales of Brandon’s 
peril frightened her. She resolved to go to Marion 
at once. 

At the Butler home she went slowly up the steps 
of the little white cottage among the trees. Her 
heart sank as she thought of a possible rebuff 
and of the humiliating confession she must make 
in case she was granted a hearing. Marion an¬ 
swered the summons in person. The two former 
friends looked squarely into each other’s eyes. 

“You?” Marion said, coldly. 

“Yes, Marion. May I come in? I am in a des¬ 
perate situation and want to talk to you. ’ ’ 

As Marion looked at the caller the memory of 
that night when she saw her in the moonlight at 
the Bugle office became vivid. She stood erect, 
eyes cold, lips firm. 

“Mollie, what have you to say that would in¬ 
terest me? We have had nothing in common for 
years. ’ ’ 

Mollie’s head drooped. There was an air of 
utter hopelessness about her, yet she persisted in 
a voice scarcely audible. 

“I know you despise me. Possibly you will 
hate me more than ever if you will let me tell you 
the whole story. I must tell it to some one. I 
can think of no one else to go to. Jim Brandon 
is in trouble. I must help him. ’ ’ 

“Jim Brandon?” 

“Yes. I don’t know anything about the trou¬ 
ble between you two. That isn’t what I want to 
talk about. Oh, Marion, won’t you give me one 
chance? Won’t you listen to me for just a little 
while?” she pleaded with outstretched hands. 
“Please do, if only for old time’s sake.” 

The pathetic figure appealed to the warm heart 
of Marion Butler. Her old school friend was in 


OPEN CONFESSION 


293 


trouble and asked her confidence. She had also 
mentioned Jim Brandon’s name. She decided to 
hear the story, to learn the worst if Mollie Smith 
cared to tell it. 

4 ‘Come in,” she said, taking her old friend by 
the arm. “Sit down, Mollie, and tell me all you 
have to say. We are alone. No one else will 
hear . 9 9 She nerved herself for the ordeal. Mollie 
Smith was weeping now. 

“I am listening,” said Marion, firmly. 

Mollie Smith dried her eyes hastily and looked 
up, determination written on every line of her 
pale face. 

4 ‘ If you will permit me, I will begin at the very 
beginning,” she said. “I think you long ago 
suspected my disgrace. All you may have sus¬ 
pected was true. I was at Kansas City, not to 
study to become a trained nurse but for far differ¬ 
ent reasons. I had to go. The only friend I had 
at that time was Jim Brandon.” 

“Friend?” questioned Marion, haughtily. 

“Yes, the best and only real friend I ever had, 
one who stood by me when I was in trouble. He 
furnished the money for me to go away.” 

“This is not news to me,” said Marion, coldly. 
“Go on.” 

“I had to go to him for help. I was penniless, 
forsaken and in distress. Steve Osborn, the cause 
of all my trouble, had been sent to the peniten¬ 
tiary. Even had he been at liberty, I doubt—,” 
she got no further. 

“What are you saying, girl?” cried Marion 
Butler. “Steve Osborn the cause of your trou¬ 
ble ? Explain ! 9 9 She was visibly excited, stand¬ 
ing over the huddled form. 

“What is there to explain? Let me go on. Jim 


294 THE KANSAN 

Brandon was my only refuge and lie did not fail 
me.” 

A great light was beginning to dawn upon 
Marion and the intelligence made her weak, un¬ 
nerved, sick at heart. 

“Mollie, let me understand you before you say 
anything more. Steve Osborn was the cause of 
your downfall? Jim Brandon merely aided you 
in going away? Is that the truth? Do not deceive 
me.” 

“It is the truth. Jim was the only friend I 
ever had,” said Mollie, in a colorless tone. 

“Heaven help me!” cried Marion Butler, as 
she sank into a chair. 

“Let me go on,” said Mollie, steadily. “There 
is much more to tell. Jim Brandon kept my secret. 
Others may suspect it but he alone knows. I 
came back and have gone my weary way alone, 
friendless, a punishment I no doubt deserved. I 
am not offering excuses.” 

“You said Jim Brandon was in trouble now,” 
Marion hastily interposed. 

“I am coming to that. One night this week I 
saw Steve Osborn’s face at my window. It was 
late. He did not molest me that night. I had 
heard of his escape from prison. I was terribly 
frightened. The next morning I went to Jim 
Brandon and told him of the incident. I felt it 
my duty to inform some one that Osborn was in 
town. I expressed fear that he might do me bod¬ 
ily harm and Jim gave me his revolver for pro¬ 
tection.” 

“Go on!” said Marion, breathlessly. 

“The next night, while the search was on, Os¬ 
born was closely cornered near our house and in 
desperation he opened the window and crawled 
into my room during my absence. When I re- 



OPEN CONFESSION 


295 


turned he seized me, threatening and frightening 
me so that I was helpless. He hid under the bed. 
I threw the searchers off the track, shielded him 
because he threatened me, and brought him food 
as ordered. Later he forced me to go with him 
to the bridge, just before dawn, to get a bundle 
supposed to have been left there for him by some 
one. Suspecting a trap, he made me search for 
the bundle while he remained in hiding near the 
warehouse. I did as directed but there was no 
package there. He was desperate and cursed and 
threatened me and ordered me back to search 
more thoroughly. I could find nothing. I dared 
not run away. I dreaded to return. He was in 
the shadow of the warehouse and saw me coming. 
I heard his snarl and fearing for my life drew 
Jim’s revolver from the folds of my cloak. There 
was light enough for him to see it, but it did not 
stop him as I had hoped. He demanded the gun 
and crouched to spring upon me.” 

“And then you shot him,” said Marion, calmly. 

“No, thank God, I did not have the courage. I 
threw the revolver from me and ran for my life. 
As I ran, I heart a shot and thought he had gained 
possession of the revolver and was firing at me. 
I was so frightened I redoubled my speed and did 
not once glance back. I quickly reached the cor¬ 
ner and ran all the way home, slipping in without 
being discovered. The next morning the body 
was found near the warehouse, as you know. 
That is all I know of the tragedy.” 

“But about Jim Brandon? You haven’t told 
me how he came to be in trouble?” said Marion, 
anxiously. 

“You forget that the revolver I had was his. It 
was found near the body. It was identified as his 
property. When confronted he admitted owner- 


296 


THE KANSAN 


ship, but evidently thinking I had killed Osborn, 
he declined to make any statement as to how the 
revolver came to be there, no doubt with the in¬ 
tention of shielding me. ’ ’ 

“Even so, why should that get him into serious 
trouble ! ’’ 

“Don’t you see! No one else is suspected of 
the murder. No other clue has been secured. 
Jim’s gun was found there. He refuses to ex¬ 
plain. Also, the night before, after an encounter 
with Osborn in which the latter escaped, Jim pub¬ 
licly threatened to kill Osborn at sight. To be on 
the safe side the authorities have placed Jim un¬ 
der arrest, pending further developments.” 

“Do you know this to he true! I have heard 
nothing of his arrest. Is it generally known!” 

“I think not. George Bean told me about it 
less than an hour ago. He says Jim may hang 
for murder. It cannot, it must not be. That’s 
why I have come to you with my confession. What 
can we do! ” 

The rapid revelations had proven a decided 
shock to Marion and for a time she was too be¬ 
wildered to think coherently. Jim Brandon was 
innocent of the unfaithfulness which she supposed 
she had witnessed that night when she tramped 
the primroses beneath her feet. It had all been 
a blunder. Again she had misjudged him. Again 
she was at fault. And now, true to his noble na¬ 
ture he was facing suspicion, arrest and possible 
punishment in order to save a woman’s reputa¬ 
tion. Thoughts began to come rapidly. 

“Mollie, how do you account for Steve Osborn’s 
death!’’ 

‘ ‘ I have no idea. I have told you all I know. ’ ’ 

“You say that but one shot was fired!” 


OPEN CONFESSION 297 

“I heard but one. Others in the neighborhood 
corroborate this.” 

“Could he have committed suicide?” 

“I do not think so.” 

Marion now thought swiftly: ‘ ‘ I have an idea. 
Let us go and get Dave Fallon and make a further 
examination of the place where Osborn was found. 
Will you go?” 

“ Gladly, if there is a chance to clear up this 
mystery and save Jim Brandon.” 

“There is more than a good chance,” said 
Marion, decisively. “Come on, let’s go at once.” 

They had no trouble in finding Dave Fallon nor 
in inducing him to go with them to the scene of 
the tragedy. He was glad of the opportunity, 
when informed that there was a possibility of 
obtaining information that might clear his friend 
from suspicion. 

Arriving at the warehouse he at once indicated 
where the body was found and also the exact spot 
where he had picked up the revolver. 

“I am afraid there is little more to be learned 
here,” he said. “Hundreds of people have 
tramped all over the place since the guards were 
removed. However, I was one of the first on the 
scene and made accurate notes of all that I found. 
There was positively no clue save the body, the 
revolver and the footprints of a woman who evi¬ 
dently ran away.” 

Dave Fallon was proud of his record as a trail¬ 
er and plainsman who could, in the old days, read 
signs with the best of the Indians. 

Marion was carefully searching the concrete curb 
near where the revolver had been found. Fallon 
watched her with little interest. She parted the 
trampled weeds near the curb and suddenly gave 
a glad cry of satisfaction. 


298 


THE KANSAN 


“Here it is!” she cried, triumphantly. “Look 
here!” 

She pointed to a scratch on the curb, evidently 
made by some sharp, metallic instrument. 

“Here is where the revolver fell. And here 
are what appears to be powder marks. Look 
closely, Mr. Fallon, and give me your opinion.” 
She was trembling with excitement. 

The old scout got down and examined the curb 
carefully. 

“Yes,” he replied, “there is a scratch on the 
curb and in my judgment those are powder marks. 
But that does not get us anywhere.’ ’ 

“Doesn’t it!” returned Marion, her eyes shin¬ 
ing. “It proves to me conclusively how Steve 
Osborn met his death.” 

“I’ll have to confess that it does not prove any¬ 
thing to me,” replied Dave Fallon. “What is the 
answer ? ’ ’ 

“Just a moment. There were no powder marks 
on the clothing or body of Steve Osborn to indi¬ 
cate suicide?” 

“None whatever.” 

“What was the course of the bullet in Osborn’s 
body?” 

“It entered on the left side, ranging upward 
toward the right shoulder.” 

“That settles it,” said Marion, with decision. 
“Steve Osborn’s death was accidental. No mur¬ 
der was committed. Mr. Fallon, if I make some 
disclosures to you that are of a private nature, 
will you promise me not to give the same publicity 
unless absolute necessity demands?” 

“You may tell me anything you wish, in perfect 
confidence. ’ ’ 

“Mollie, am I at liberty to speak freely to Mr. 
Fallon?” she asked, turning to the agitated girl 


OPEN CONFESSION 


299 


who was visibly affected by this visit to the scene 
of her former escapade. 

“If it means the saving of Jim Brandon, yes,” 
she answered in a low voice, moistening her trem¬ 
bling lips. 

“It will do that, I am sure. Mr. Fallon, on the 
night Steve Osborn met bis death be forcibly en¬ 
tered Mollie’s room and under threats made her 
conceal him there during the search. Later he 
ordered her to accompany him to this place to 
secure a bundle of clothing supposed to be con¬ 
cealed beneath the bridge. She could not find it. 
Osborn became furious at her failure. To protect 
herself, Mollie drew a revolver given her by Jim 
Brandon that morning.’’ 

At this statement Dave Fallon began to show 
real interest in the proceedings. 

“So that’s how Jim’s gun came to be here,” he 
said. 

“Yes. Now listen closely. At sight of the gun, 
instead of being bluffed as Mollie had expected, 
he became wild to possess the weapon and crouch¬ 
ed to spring upon her. She did not have the cour¬ 
age to fire, so threw the gun away and ran. She 
says she heard a shot but was so frightened she 
did not even look back. That curb there tells the 
rest of the story. ’ ’ 

“I am beginning to understand,” Fallon re¬ 
plied. “Go on to the finish and we will see how 
our deductions compare.” 

“Osborn undoubtedly saw the coveted revolver 
thrown in the air and ran toward the spot where 
it was to fall, being more anxious to secure the 
weapon than to have revenge on Mollie. The re¬ 
volver must have struck the curb when it fell, ex¬ 
ploding the cartridge. The scratched curb and 
the powder marks verify that. The rest is con- 


300 


THE KANSAN 


jecture, but my idea is that Osborn was near the 
revolver when it landed and received the bullet 
in his body. The upward range of the bullet 
should substantiate that. Isn’t it all reasonable 
enough ? ’ ’ 

“It is plain, beyond a reasonable doubt,” Fal¬ 
lon replied. “I am convinced that Osborn’s death 
was accidental.” 

“Then there should be no need of keeping Jim 
Brandon under arrest any longer,” asserted 
Marion. 

“You knew he was under arrest?” he ques¬ 
tioned. 

“Yes, through Mollie, here, who has furnished 
all the information I have given you except the 
mute record there on the curb. Mr. Fallon, Mol¬ 
lie has suffered much already. Kindly promise 
again not to drag her into unnecessary publicity. ’ ’ 

Mollie Smith was weeping silently. Marion 
placed a protecting arm around her. 

“I think there will be no need of publicity. I 
am going to the courthouse immediately. I hope 
to have Jim Brandon released within half an hour. 
The case is plain. I think I can handle it. I thank 
you both for the aid you have rendered in clearing 
up this mystery.” 

Marion hesitated: “Mr. Fallon, will you do me 
one favor?” 

“Anything you wish, Miss Butler.” 

“Please do not mention my part in this affair 
to Jim Brandon. I have wronged him seriously. 
I have only recently discovered my mistake. I 
am glad, with Mollie’s aid, to have been of some 
assistance to him, but I owe him much more. I 
have learned many things today and I want time 
to think. Will you favor me?” 

“Yes,” said the old scout. “You both can 


OPEN CONFESSION 301 

trust me. I will reveal nothing that is not abso¬ 
lutely necessary/’ 

He at once departed for the courthouse. After 
a brief interview with the sheriff he went in 
search of his friend, Jim Brandon. He found him 
reading a copy of his evening newspaper. 

“ Jim, the mystery is cleared up,” he shouted. 
“You are free to go.” 

Jim Brandon threw aside his newspaper. 

“What do you mean, Dave. Have they found 
the murderer! Do they know who really killed 
Steve Osborn!” 

“Don’t ask questions. Isn’t it good news to 
know that you are free to go! I never was hap¬ 
pier in my life. Don’t worry about the details 
just now. However, I am free to inform you that 
no murderer was arrested. Steve Osborn’s death 
was accidental. ’ ’ 

“But my revolver!” questioned Jim Brandon, 
searchingly. “How has that been accounted 
for!” 

“Now you are getting on forbidden ground,” 
replied Fallon. “Rest assured it has been ac¬ 
counted for and that everything is all right. You 
will have to be satisfied with that for the present. 
Isn’t that information enough for one day!” 

“I guess it will have to suffice, if you say so, but 
it is far from satisfying. If you know how my 
revolver came to be there you know a lot more 
about the case than I do, I assure you.” 

“No question about that, either,” asserted Fal¬ 
lon. “Anyway, everything is all right. You are 
free to go, any time.” 

“All right,” said Jim, soberly, taking his old 
friend by the hand. “Dave, I want to thank you 
for what you have done for me. I wasn’t con¬ 
nected with the affair in any way. We have both 


302 


THE KANSAN 


known that. But I am glad to be free from re¬ 
straint and I am deeply indebted to you.” 

The old plainsman shook his head as he said: 
“Not to me. You will probably learn all about it 
sometime. I can assure you of this much right 
now. You don’t owe your release to any efforts 
of mine, although I would have gladly done any¬ 
thing I could for you. ” 

Jim Brandon was clearly puzzled but decided 
to let the matter rest. He knew nothing was to 
be gained by attempting to pump Dave Fallon if 
he had made up his mind not to talk. 

“At least I am glad to be released at this par¬ 
ticular time,” said Jim. “I see by the paper that 
a general clean-up of the town’s dives is on. I 
have known for some time that it was coming. I’ll 
be out in time to see the finish of the raid. It will 
do me good to hear Sam Sparks howl. His graft 
game is going to be put out of business at least 
for the present. That will be some compensation 
for having been cooped up here for a time.” 

The two shook hands heartily. As Jim started 
to leave he said: “Good night, old friend. I am 
going out now to watch the move that will make 
for a bigger, better Bison City. We are building 
along right lines these days and this house-clean¬ 
ing has been long overdue.” 


CHAPTER XXV 
A Pledge oe Loyalty 


Jim Brandon’s predictions were verified. The 
great house-cleaning for Bison City was thorough. 
Through Brandon’s agitation in his newspaper 
and the assistance of Congressman Hull, state aid 
had been secured. The whiskey joints, the broth¬ 
els, the upstairs gambling dens, all came within 
the scope of the official dragnet this time and 
Bison City became a clean town. For years 
events had prepared the way for this grand finale. 
The state prohibitory law had placed the semi- 
respectable licensed saloons out of business and 
banished liquor-selling to the joints, bootleggers 
and blind-tigers of ill repute. The dance hall had 
long since passed on. Gambling was carried on 
behind closed doors in out-of-the-way rooms up 
stairs that were carefully guarded. Now they 
were all gone. 

As the town recovered from the boom and pros¬ 
perity returned, there came more churches, better 
schools, more law-abiding people. These all led 
to the raids made the night Jim Brandon was re¬ 
leased from custody. A personal investigation 
convinced him that the work had been effective, 
thorough. He knew that the struggle now would 
be the keeping up of the new standard, for the 
reform had come only after a long, bitter fight 
from an opposition that was now defeated but by 
no means destroyed. 

Sam Sparks was furious but impotent, unable 
for the first time in his career to checkmate the 

303 


i 


304 


THE KANSAN 


forward movement. Outwardly he was merely a 
quiet, impassive spectator of all that was going 
on, hut secretly he was already at work for the 
overthrow of the present order. To discredit 
Congressman Hull and Jim Brandon was his first 
move. With Norman Asher in Hull’s place he 
felt he would he reasonably secure. Asher was 
well liked in town and over the district, yet Sparks 
had not selected him without knowing his man. 
He took pains to impress upon everyone the fact 
that Asher’s advancement was due to his personal 
efforts. Having studied his man shrewdly and 
carefully for a long time he felt that at least in 
the beginning the new congressman would be as 
putty in his hands. 

He knew that Asher had ability but needed a 
firm directing hand, knew that he would accept 
guidance and determined to be the one to furnish 
it. In this way he hoped to gradually restore the 
old order and again thrive on the rich graft the 
opportunity would be sure to present. He rea¬ 
soned that even if Asher in time became aggres¬ 
sive and opposed his plans he would at least be 
safely intrenched by that time, ready for another 
battle and a new candidate for congress if neces¬ 
sary. He was powerful and knew his strength. 

With political sagacity born of years of experi¬ 
ence he nursed the rising revolt against Hull, re¬ 
maining ostensibly with Hull yet always with a 
finger on the pulse of the public over the district 
watching with practiced skill the progress of the 
carefully nurtured revolt. Crafty and calculating 
he figured that the time was now opportune for 
cutting adrift from Hull, sure that the latter was 
on the down grade. 

Jim Brandon was also well equipped to read 
the signs of the times. He was alarmed at the in- 


A PLEDGE OF LOYALTY 


305 


dications of a political uprising. He knew many 
of the political leaders of the district in times 
past, hut now there were new men on the scene, 
young, progressive and determined to have a 
change. Asher may not have been their ideal 
leader but he was young, attractive, a good speak¬ 
er and above all had the backing of Sam Sparks, 
which was a deciding factor in his favor. Prac¬ 
tical politics had to be taken into consideration. 

Busy with a multitude of duties, Congressman 
Hull was still in Washington, and remained there 
while the storm gathered. Jim Brandon had sent 
him repeated warnings but he remained at his 
post. Realizing to some extent the gravity of the 
situation, Jim Brandon decided to go out over the 
district in order to see for himself the strength 
of the opposition and to attempt to stem the tide 
that had undoubtedly set in against his friend and 
patron. 

Having decided to go he resolved to make the 
investigation thorough. He first went to his 
newspaper office and had a conference with his of¬ 
fice force, informing them of his mission, giving 
advice as to how to handle the news stories he 
would send in and as to the general policy of the 
paper during his absence. Then he packed his 
bag and quietly left town. 

His sudden departure was a serious disappoint¬ 
ment to Marion Butler, who, having learned the 
truth concerning the Mollie Smith episode, de¬ 
cided that she had been entirely at fault, that a 
confession was due from her and that it was her 
duty and desire to attempt a reconciliation. Now 
he was gone and she chided herself for not having 
gone to him at once with a plea for forgiveness. 

Brandon was absent for many days, returning 
the day before the nominating convention. He 


306 


THE KANSAN 


even labored with the incoming delegates on the 
train. During his absence Congressman Hull had 
returned and realizing at last the gravity of the 
situation was putting up the fight of his life. 

Tired and worn by his days of travel, Jim 
Brandon went direct to his friend. He found 
Jason Hull at district headquarters, smiling, alert 
yet grave. When Jim entered the room the con¬ 
gressman arose and grasped him by the hand. 

“Come into the private office, lad. Pm mighty 
glad to see you. How did you find things over 
the district ?” He gazed straight into the eyes 
of his young friend. What he saw there was not 
reassuring. “Give me your opinion straight. 
Don’t be afraid. I know the outlook is not prom¬ 
ising.” 

Jim Brandon sank dejectedly into a chair and 
brushed the dust of travel from his coat. 

“Mr. Hull, you haven’t one chance in a thou¬ 
sand. Sparks has built up a machine that will 
stand hitched. Asher will be nominated on the 
first ballot tomorrow.” 

“So bad as that, Jim?” 

“You asked for my opinion. We are up against 
a losing fight, that’s all.” Jim Brandon’s hands 
dropped to his knees with a gesture of helpless¬ 
ness. 

“Why Jim, you appear to be licked before the 
fight really commences.” 

“ I ’ll admit it. ’ ’ 

“Well, I won’t,” replied Hull, decisively. “I 
know a few tricks in the political game. The last 
card has not been played yet, my boy. You can’t 
always keep a squirrel on the ground. However, 
suppose they do win? Every man who plays the 
game must expect to lose sometime. If my time 



A PLEDGE OF LOYALTY 


307 


has come it will find me with a stiff upper lip, even 
if I am growing old. ’ ’ 

“I am discouraged for several reasons,” said 
Jim. “I am sorry for you personally, sorry also 
for the people of this district, for you have always 
been their friend. But even more than that is at 
stake. If Asher wins, Sparks will control him, 
otherwise he would not he backing him. Had 
Sparks been able to control you he would not now 
be in the other camp. With Sparks again in con¬ 
trol all the old dives will come back. The long, 
hard fight for a clean town will have to be fought 
all over again. That is disheartening, aside from 
your personal ambitions. ” 

“That’s true,” replied the congressman, 
thoughtfully. “So far as I am concerned I have 
about had my fling. There is little attraction in 
political service after the first glamour has worn 
off. I could quit with few regrets if the people 
demand it, but the other affairs are not so easily 
disposed of.” 

“The people have not tired of you, Mr. Hull. 
Make no mistake on that score. I have been out 
long enough to sound them thoroughly. The 
politicians are the ones that are causing all the 
trouble, and you know they control conventions. 
Some who have been solidly behind you all these 
years are now with the new crowd. Sparks has 
not left a loophole.” 

“You never can tell what will happen in poli¬ 
tics,” asserted Jason Hull with some assurance. 
Then he continued: “You have made a pretty 
thorough inspection of the district and should be 
able to give me some information I need. Tell me 
this: What is this political revolt really based 
upon? Why are the leaders off the reservation? 


308 


THE KANSAN 


What do the people want? What are they say¬ 
ing?” 

44 Well, the politicians of the Sparks machine 
want their graft hack. That’s what they are work¬ 
ing for. They will bump anybody who interferes 
with them. That’s why you are unpopular with 
that crowd. They are few, but influential. The 
others declare that they want a younger, more 
progressive man to represent them. They are 
clamoring for a new deal.” 

The congressman ran his fingers through his 
gray locks and wrinkled his bow in thought. 

44 There might be some plan devised to thwart 
the politicians and yet give the others what they 
insist upon,” he finally said, reflectively. “I’ll 
think it over.” 

This puzzled Jim Brandon, who waited respect¬ 
fully for an explanation, but Jason Hull was evi¬ 
dently lost in thought and offered no further light 
on the subject. Finally the young man said: 

“I can see no way out. To me there appears 
but one thing to do, and that is to stick to our 
stand and go down with flags flying. The thought 
of a compromise with Sparks is impossible. Be¬ 
sides, he is flushed with the prospects of victory 
and wouldn’t consider such a thing, anyway. ’ ’ 

“There will be no compromise with Sparks, 
whatever happens, and there will be no hauling 
down of the flag in unconditional surrender. You 
can depend on that.” 

44 1 am glad to hear you talk like that, Mr. Hull. ’ ’ 

4 4 Still, all my plans may miscarry. Politics is 
an uncertain game, and one in which gratitude 
is an unknown quantity. Now, Jim, I want to talk 
straight to you. You have fought the good fight. 
No one could have done more for me than you 
have. Now I don’t want to see you sacrificed on 


A PLEDGE OF LOYALTY 


309 


my account. The best years of your life are still 
ahead of you. If you feel that my chances are 
hopeless, there is no need of your going down 
with me. I’ll demand no further sacrifice from 
you. Climb on the bandwagon if you care to . 9 9 

Jim Brandon flushed: ‘ 4 Mr. Hull, don’t talk that 
way to me. I wouldn’t think of such a thing. 
Whatever your plans may be, I consider it an 
honor to go with you to the finish, win or lose. 
It seems to me that every forward step has to be 
met with a stubborn fight. I am used to it. I will 
be proud to go down with you if it comes to that, 
but I want to go down with colors flying, ready to 
take up the battle again at the bottom if need be. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Thank you, my boy. Friendship such as yours 
comes to but few men. I appreciate all you have 
done and thank you. We will fight to the finish 
then. You had better go now and get some rest. 
You look all worn out.” 

“Not much time for that if we are going to 
fight. The delegates are nearly all here. There 
is work to be done among them from now until 
the convention is called to order. Have you any 
special instructions for me! Is there any par¬ 
ticular thing you want done! ” 

The older man looked at his young friend with 
searching gaze, full of love and confidence. 

“No, lad. You know the game as well or better 
than I do. Our time is short and the cards appear 
to be pretty carefully stacked against us. Use 
your own judgment. The fight will come tonight 
—and tomorrow. We will cross the bridges as we 
come to them.” 

He was smiling, enigmatical, in no way cast 
down by the hopeless prospect, an attitude that 
greatly perplexed Jim Brandon. Had he some 
definite plan! Or was he simply losing his grip 


310 


THE KANSAN 


on affairs, incompetent to meet modern conditions 
as his detractors declared? If he had something 
definite in view, why was he withholding it on the 
eve of the struggle? These questions worried the 
young man as he bade his old friend goodbye. 

As he went through the outer rooms the gloom 
of the place was depressing. The congressman’s 
few supporters had evidently given up hope also. 
How could his leader be so optimistic in the face 
of such a situation? There was no answer to the 
question. 

On his way down the street he encountered 
George Washington Bean near the park corner. 

i 1 Hello, old-timer,” was Bean’s greeting. “You 
look like you had been somewhere and seen some¬ 
thing. What’s the mournful news from afar?” 
He was aware of Brandon’s trip, and knew what 
was coming. 

“Hull hasn’t the ghost of a chance,” said Jim. 

“Didn’t a little dickey bird whisper something 
of that sort in your ear some time ago? Chance! 
He’s shot all to ruin. He hasn’t a look in. I 
have talked to a few of the delegates. It’s all cut 
and dried. Hull is up against it proper. How 
does he take it?” 

“He is cheerful, almost confident. I don’t quite 
understand his attitude. ’ ’ 

“I don’t either, if that’s the way he feels. It’s 
all Asher. Nothing else doing under the big tent. 
I heard one piece of news that might interest you, 
although I am not sure.” Bean stopped and 
looked at his friend questioningly. 

“Let’s have it.” 

“Oh, it ain’t much and was only a rumor any¬ 
way. I heard it casually stated down at the hotel 
that a wedding might hinge on Asher’s becoming a 




A PLEDGE OF LOYALTY 


311 


congressman, which, if true, would add quite an 
incentive for him. ,, 

Jim Brandon stiffened at that and turned pale. 

“You refer to Marion?” he asked, coldly. 

“Now don’t go to getting huffy,” cautioned his 
friend. ‘ ‘ I don’t know anything about your stand¬ 
ing with the lady only that you two haven’t been 
what you might call real friendly for some time. 
What’s more, I don’t want to know. It’s your 
own affair. As to the report, it was only a chance 
remark which I possibly should not have repeated. 
Marion may marry Asher and she may not, con¬ 
gressman or no congressman, so far as I know.” 

“I am not offended,” said Jim, evenly. “The 
story is merely somebody’s surmise, and is made 
by some one that does not know Marion Butler, 
at that. If she decides to marry Norman Asher 
the event will not hinge on the matter of his elec¬ 
tion to Congress. I know her too well to believe 
that story.” 

Yet in spite of his confident attitude, the story 
worried him. Was there a possibility that Marion 
might eventually marry the young attorney? For 
weary months Jim had sought to meet her, to 
question her, to bring about an opportunity to 
find the cause of her strange behavior, yet she 
studiously avoided him. Of late she had fre¬ 
quently appeared in public with Asher. Could 
there be some grain of truth in the street rumor 
Bean had reported? His heart sank at the 
thought. 

George Washington Bean eyed his friend 
keenly. Finally he said: “Not changing the sub¬ 
ject, for it is still on affairs of the heart, I wish 
you would advise me. I sure need it. ” His head 
wabbled and his eyes rolled as in the old Willow 
Creek days. Jim noticed his nervousness. 


312 


THE KANSAN 


“What’s the matter with you, George?” _ 

The latter hung his head: “I guess I’m in love 
is about all,” he blurted out. 

Jim Brandon forgot his own troubles in the 
suddenness of Bean’s declaration and gazed at 
him, openmouthed. 

“Go ahead and grin,” urged Bean. “It won’t 
crack your face.” 

“Who is the lady?” Jim finally asked, recover¬ 
ing from his astonishment. 

“That’s getting down to brass tacks,” said 
Bean, soberly. “Jim, the girl is Mollie Smith. 
Now don’t throw a fit. I know there has been talk. 
I also know that you know her story if anybody 
does. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” 

“You surprise me.” 

“I expected to. Yet I have loved that girl since 
the old school days. I’ll admit I have done my 
worshiping from afar. I have always been 
afraid of the women. But that girl has had a hard 
time of it all her life. She is good at heart and I 
know it. She is good enough for me. What am I 
that I should put on airs over anybody? Only a 
homeless outcast, kicked about from pillar to 
post, educated in the school of hard knocks. I’d 
like to have a home of my own. I love Mollie 
Smith. I would marry her in a minute if I 
thought she would have me, and I would be good 
to her, too,” he added vehemently. 

Jim Brandon was touched by this glimpse into 
an honest heart. 

“Have you ever talked to her on the subject?” 

“I haven’t had the nerve. Even the thought of 
it takes the tuck all out of me,” he confessed. 
‘ ‘ This thing of being in love is pretty tough busi¬ 
ness, isn’t it? It sure sharpens your teeth and 










A PLEDGE OF LOYALTY 


313 


makes the hair curl on your chest. Honestly, Jim, 
I want to know what is the right thing to do. ,, 

‘ ‘ I would have it over at once if I were you. Go 
straight to the girl and offer her your hand in 
marriage. If she gives you the least encourage¬ 
ment, stick to it until you win her.’’ 

“Even if the girl is Mollie Smith?” Bean asked, 
looking his friend squarely in the eye. 

“Yes, if you really love her.” 

6 ‘ That’s what I wanted answered. Mollie is as 
good or better than I am. I’m going to ask her, 
and if she will have me, I will stick to her through 
thick and thin. I feel sorry for her, but I am 
not mistaking sympathy for love. I want her and 
I am going to get her if I can. The town can talk 
its fool head off for all I care.” 

“I know Mollie Smith pretty well, too,” said 
Jim with decision. ‘ ‘ The town has already had its 
say. If you care for her as you say, go ahead 
and ask her. If she encourages you, marry her 
and try to make her happy. If you care to, you 
may say that you told me of your resolution, and 
that I advised you to go to her without reserve. ’’ 

Bean grasped his friend’s hand and shook it 
heartily. 

“I’m going to my fate, boy. Sufferin’ cats! 
I’m so scared I feel like howling like a wolf. I 
wonder if it affects everybody that way? Well, so 
long. I’ll tell you how things come out the next 
time I see you. I don’t know what I am going to 
say, but I am sure going to say it strong. Fare¬ 
well, vain world! ’ ’ 

With a wave of the hand and a shrug of the 
shoulders George Washington Bean disappeared 
down the street. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


The Darkest Hour 

All was bustle and excitement at the Commer¬ 
cial hotel when Jim Brandon arrived there the 
evening before the convention. Most of the dele¬ 
gates had arrived and political “milling” was in 
progress in the lobby which was blue with tobacco 
smoke. Whispered consultations were being held 
among interested groups here and there. Combi¬ 
nations were being made. Slates for county offices 
were in progress of arrangement. Candidates for 
federal appointment were in evidence. Even 
state politics entered into the discussion. All the 
regular business of the politicians was well under 
way. 

Upstairs in room twenty-four, Norman Asher 
had his headquarters, with Skinner Smith on 
guard as doorkeeper. It was here that Sam 
Sparks also held court. In this room the real 
business of the convention was being arranged, 
not in the crowded lobby below. To this room 
the elect were called from time to time, later de¬ 
parting with looks of wisdom to the lobby to at 
once become the center of some group where 
whispers, nods and an air of deep mystery pre¬ 
vailed. In this room the officers for the tem¬ 
porary and permanent organization of the con¬ 
vention were named. Here also the membership 
of the various committees was decided upon and 
the leading resolutions submitted for approval 
and all the other deals, alliances and promises 
were ratified. 


314 


THE DARKEST HOUR 


315 


Once in the lobby and mingling with the dele¬ 
gates, Jim Brandon felt the ntter hopelessness of 
Jason Hull’s candidacy. The latter had no private 
room. Sparks had formerly arranged all the pre¬ 
convention details. Now he was in the camp of the 
opposition. The congressman was in the lobby, 
greeting old acquaintances, but he, too, felt the 
chill of the revolt. Conditions were not as in 
former times. The effect was depressing. Hull 
was clearly unpopular. 

On the other hand Jim Brandon was every¬ 
where greeted with smiles and warm hand-clasps 
of friendship. The delegates liked him. They 
secretly admired his manly fight for his old chief, 
but were adamant whenever he brought up the 
subject of Hull’s candidacy. The edict had gone 
forth. Self-interest demanded that the program 
be carried through. Much as they admired Jim 
Brandon and his fearlessness, much as many of 
them owed to Congressman Hull, they knew that 
they were bound hand and foot and were to be 
delivered to Norman Asher at the convention the 
next day. They were not moved by Brandon’s 
pleadings. Their own political fortunes were at 
stake. 

The few staunch friends of the congressman in 
the crowd soon sensed the situation and worked 
half-heartedly. Jason Hull alone maintained a 
cheerful front. He spoke but casually of his can¬ 
didacy, preferring to interest himself in the plans 
of the politicians who were seeking personal pre¬ 
ferment. Jim Brandon could not understand this 
attitude of his friend. He knew that Hull realized 
the hopelessness of the situation as well as he did. 
He must know that tonight the little handful of 
loyal friends were making their last stand against 
overwhelming odds. It was tragic to Brandon, 


316 


THE KANSAN 


yet Hull, although at times grave, was often cheer¬ 
ful, smiling, seemingly almost optimistic. 

Congressman Hull prepared to leave the hotel 
rather early. As he smilingly bade a group of 
politicians good night, one of the party tauntingly 
said: “It looks like the deck has been pretty well 
stacked, Mr. Hull. In the light of all you have 
heard, will you allow your name to be presented to 
the convention tomorrow ?” 

The smile on the congressman’s face faded at 
the taunt and his chin shot out aggressively. 

“I have never yet been branded as a quitter,” 
he snapped back. “My name will be presented to 
the convention, rest assured of that. Also I may 
have a few words to say before the steam roller is 
started. Good night, gentlemen.” He turned 
abruptly and departed. 

The few Hull adherents soon followed their 
leader, all save Jim Brandon. Tired as he was by 
his long, hard trip over the district, depressed by 
the gravity of the outlook, worried over the pros¬ 
pects of Sparks ’ ascendency and the return of the 
old order of graft and civic uncleanliness, he stood 
his ground, fighting to the last for his friend 
and his ideals. 

Later in the evening Sam Sparks came down 
from the mysterious upper room and conde¬ 
scended to mingle with the delegates in the 
crowded, smoke-befogged lobby. He soon worked 
his way through the crowd to where Jim Brandon 
was the center of a small group. Sparks was in 
excellent spirits. Everything was moving like 
clockwork. He glanced quickly around the lobby, 
then addressed Brandon directly. 

‘‘Well, well! Here’s the brave boy standing on 
the burning deck whence all but him have fled. 
How goes the battle, my lord ? ’ ’ 


THE DARKEST HOUR 


317 


The crowd pressed closer, scenting action. 

“I’ll admit you have a fairly effective fighting 
force,” Jim replied with warmth, “but I am not 
licked, Sam, and what is more, I never will ac¬ 
knowledge defeat. You can run your bandwagon 
over me and then back it up on me, but you will 
find me fighting the minute I am up again.” 

This show of spirit pleased the crowd and there 
was some cheering. Jim Brandon had always 
been popular and still retained his friends, even 
in the face of defeat. 

“You are game, Jim. Nobody questions that,” 
replied Sparks, puffing away at his cigar which 
was held at a rakish upward tilt. “The trouble 
with you is that you are always doing the right 
thing at the wrong time. Why don’t you look out 
for yourself once in a while? Why deliberately 
throw yourself in front of the steam roller? You 
had your chance and wouldn’t take it. I told you 
weeks ago that Hull was due for the discard, but 
you preferred to lead a forlorn hope. I can’t see 
why you took such a course. It wasn’t at all 
necessary.” 

“I don’t expect you to understand my atti¬ 
tude, ’’ Jim replied. “It’s entirely foreign to your 
makeup. You may succeed with your plans but 
not until after a fight to a finish so far as I am 
concerned.” 

Sam Sparks grinned good-naturedly. 

“Of course I’ll succeed. Peck away as much as 
you like, nobody cares. Asher will be nominated 
on the first ballot. It’s all over but the shouting. 
If you would rather be under the band-wagon than 
in it, that’s your affair. We want a new deal in 
the politics of this district and we are going to 
have it.” 

“That sort of talk may fool some people but it 


318 


THE KANSAN 


doesn’t get anywhere with me,” Jim Brandon re¬ 
plied, his wrath rising. 44 It isn’t a new deal you 
want at all. It’s the return of the old order that 
you are after. Tell that new deal stuff to the 
marines!” 

Turning on his heel he left without further com¬ 
ment. He knew that argument was useless. The 
stage was set. Tomorrow the puppet show would 
he put on as planned. 

He pulled his hat down over his eyes, worked 
his way stubbornly, through the jostling crowd 
and was soon out in the starlit street. His 
thoughts were not pleasant. Sparks and his 
grafters were in the saddle. The old fight against 
the dives would soon have to be taken up all over 
again. The prospect was discouraging. A vic¬ 
tory for Asher was sure to discredit his news¬ 
paper, for he had backed Hull to the limit, with 
no thought of compromise. There was further 
cause for worry in the thought that there might 
be truth in the rumor that Asher had won the 
good graces of Marion Butler. On this point he 
was not sure, but her treatment of him since the 
days of the panic left him without hope of a recon¬ 
ciliation. 

As he w T andered alone down the street on the 
way to his rooms his gloomy thoughts reverted 
to the past. It seemed to him that every forward 
step he had ever advocated either personally or 
through his newspaper had been met by stubborn 
opposition, an opposition that struck out blindly 
and yet invariably landed upon him squarely. 
Vaguely he tried to analyze the matter in an at¬ 
tempt to find some reason for it. There was no 
answer. He had given the best that was in him. 
He had stood for the right as he was permitted 
to see it. The result: His friends discredited, his 


THE DARKEST HOUR 


319 


love estranged, his hopes shattered, his desires 
frustrated. He had reached the lowest ebb of his 
eventful career. Never before had he been so near 
to giving up the struggle, never before so utterly 
despondent as he w T as this night, almost down and 
out, merely waiting for the count at tomorrow’s 
convention. 

His head was bowed and he walked listlessly 
beneath the branches of the tall maples that lined 
the street. The moonlight came trickling through 
the branches, casting queer bars and streams of 
golden light upon the sidewalk. The hour was 
late. Fireflies sparkled and flashed among the 
branches of the trees like rare jewels. Down the 
street a dog harked. A katydid chorus vied with 
the chirp of the crickets. The cool night air 
fanned his cheek unheeded. He was weary, de¬ 
jected, lost in gloomy thought. 

Suddenly he realized that he was passing the 
Butler home. All about the little house was still. 
Then he was startled from his reverie. A figure 
was approaching from out the deeper shadows of 
the lawn, the figure of a woman with arms extend¬ 
ed. As the form advanced there came to him a 
sensation as of distant music, soft and low. Jim 
Brandon stopped, his heart beating wildly. The 
woman was Marion Butler. Her face was pale 
and her great dark eyes were full upon him. 
Could he be dreaming? Would the vision dis¬ 
appear? Then she spoke and all doubt vanished. 

‘‘You have come at last, Jim. I have waited 
for you so long,” she said with trembling voice. 
She held out her hands timidly, pleadingly. “I 
have come to ask your forgiveness, to implore 
your pardon.” 

She came closer to him. Involuntarily he took 
the outstretched hands as in days of old. 


320 


THE KANSAN 


4 ‘Forgiveness?” he questioned, blankly. “I do 
not understand.’’ 

“Yes, forgiveness, dear boy, for I have wrong¬ 
ed you so.” Her lips trembled. “I would have 
come to you as soon as I discovered my error but 
you went away. Life has been a torture to me 
while I waited. Now I must speak. I want to 
confess, to humble myself at your feet if need be. ’’ 

At this Jim Brandon turned his face up toward 
the clear, starlit sky. His heart gave a great 
bound. He reached forward and drew the hesi¬ 
tating figure to him and held her against his 
breast. She did not resist. For a time both were 
silent. 

“There will be no humbling at anyone’s feet,” 
Jim said, gently. ‘ 1 Tell me what you have to say, 
dear. I have waited for this so long! I had about 
given up all hope. I have longed for a chance to 
talk to you, to clear myself of any misunderstand¬ 
ing but you purposely avoided me. What have I 
done to cause you to treat me so?” 

“Nothing, dear one, absolutely nothing.” One 
slender arm stole caressingly up around his neck. 
4 ‘ That is why I have come to you now. The fault 
has all been mine. Jim, I had no cause to doubt 
you, yet I did so—God forgive me.” 

“Tell me all,” he commanded, looking down 
into her pale, agitated face. “Let’s arrive at a 
thorough understanding, one that will endure.” 

“I will,” she replied, firmly. “You remember 
that first day you went to the wrecked newspaper 
office. We met as you were leaving the place. I 
could not bring myself to the point of confessing 
to you there in that public place yet I knew that I 
was in error the night you and father quarreled on 
the lawn. ’ ’ 

He drew her closer and gently caressed her hair. 


THE DARKEST HOUR 


321 


“That day I decided that my love for you out¬ 
weighed all else. I knew beyond question that you 
were right all the time. I decided to come to you 
that evening and tell you so. I even gathered an 
armful of primroses, your favorite flower, as a 
peace offering. Oh, Jim, the fool I’ve been! ’ ’ She 
shuddered and ceased speaking, great teardrops 
glistening on her lashes. 

“Say no more, darling, if it distresses you. I 
am more than happy just to have you once again.” 

“I must go on,” she said, resolutely. “I came 
wdthin sight of your office that night just in time 
to see the form of a woman skulking along toward 
the side entrance. I stepped into the shadow and 
waited. She knocked and was admitted.” 

“Yes,” affirmed Jim, quietly, “I know.” 

“She reappeared, weeping, hysterical. I saw 
you force the money into her hand, saw her arms 
about your neck and saw you forcibly put her 
away. All this I witnessed, Jim, and you can im¬ 
agine my sensations. Then I saw her arms raised 
in tragic gesture, saw the shawl slip from her 
head, revealing the pallid face of Mollie Smith, 
and—and God forgive me, Jim, I doubted you.” 
She was sobbing now, her head against his 
shoulder. 

“And now what has happened to dispel your 
doubts?” he questioned. 

“At the time you were under arrest in the Os¬ 
born affair, Mollie became alarmed for your safe¬ 
ty and confided her whole sad story to me and 
for the first time since that dreadful night when 
I tramped the primroses beneath my feet, I 
learned the truth.” 

“Mollie told you all?” 

“Yes, all, brave girl that she is. Together we 
went with Dave Fallon to the warehouse and found 


322 


THE KANSAN 


the scratch on the curb, together with the powder 
marks. Mollie confessed to being forced into the 
company of Osborn that night and of throwing 
away the revolver rather than kill the scoundrel. 
Together we convinced Fallon that the shooting 
was accidental. That is how you came to be re¬ 
leased so promptly.” 

“You did that?” he cried. “I did not know. 
Fallon would tell me nothing. ’’ 

“He promised not to,” Marion explained. 
‘ ‘ There may be other things of which you are still 
unaware. I am telling this, not in justification 
of my subsequent actions, but to show you that I 
did not give up without a struggle. Did you know 
that I was with you on the night you were as¬ 
saulted by the mob ?' ’ 

“You?” he asked, incredulously. 

“Yes. Father told me that you were in danger 
and I hastened out to warn you. I met Mr. Fallon 
who told me what the mob had done. He took me 
to where he had placed you on the lawn and I re¬ 
mained with you while he went for help. I went 
with them when they took you to the hospital and 
remained there until the surgeon made his report 
that you would live. ’ ’ 

Jim Brandon was deeply moved by this revela¬ 
tion. 

“You dear girl, why did you not tell me this 
before?” Gently he stooped and kissed her. 

“Because I was a poor, foolish woman, swayed 
by love for my father, torn by conflicting emotions 
and at last thrown entirely off my balance by that 
picture of Mollie Smith in the moonlight. And 
what made it so hard to bear was that through it 
all, I loved you so. Black as things appeared, 
guilty as you then seemed, I couldn't succeed in 
banishing you from my thoughts, hard as I tried. 


THE DARKEST HOUR 


323 


Possibly you have suffered during all these days 
of separation but to me life has been one long 
torture.’ ’ 

4 ‘Yes, I have suffered,’’ he replied. “Only to¬ 
day I heard that your wedding to Norman Asher 
depended upon his winning the nomination at to¬ 
morrow’s convention.” 

“And you believed that?” she questioned, 
quickly. 

“No, I did not, in spite of your strange be¬ 
havior. It worried me yet still I trusted you. I 
have always felt that I could explain away any 
misunderstanding you might have if you would 
only give me the chance. ’ ’ 

“And this I refused to give you. Jim, I was 
wrong all the time. I see it all now. Can you for¬ 
give me? Will you ever trust me fully again?” 
she pleaded, almost in a whisper. 

“Your words have made me so happy that I 
could forgive anything, sweetheart. As to trust¬ 
ing you, in that I have never failed. I knew some¬ 
thing was the matter but was helpless to right it, 
yet I trusted you and hoped that a reconciliation 
might come. ’ ’ 

“You still love me in spite of all?” 

‘ ‘ I love you now as always, ’ ’ he answered, pat¬ 
ting her hair and drawing her closer to his heart. 
“And to think that you should come to me at a 
time like this when I had counted all as lost. 
Nothing matters, now that I have you.” 

“Jim, I feel that I am unworthy of such a love 
as yours but you make me very happy. I shall 
never doubt you again.” 

“Let’s forget all the disagreeable past, dear. 
There is happiness enough in the present to atone 
for all the heartaches we both have endured.” 

The fireflies flitted through the trees and off 


324 


THE KANSAN 


down the broad street between the rustling maples 
they flashed their sparkling lanterns even to the 
grass along the parking. The katydids still sang 
and the cool night wind rustled the branches over¬ 
head. 

Jim Brandon reluctantly bade his sweetheart 
goodnight and with her caresses fresh upon him, 
with head held high and heart beating rapturous¬ 
ly, started homeward. At the next corner he be¬ 
held the lanky form of George Washington Bean 
coming down the cross street. Bean was sputter¬ 
ing with excitement. Grasping Jim’s hand he 
pumped industriously. 

“ Jim you are a brick. You are the best man in 
the world, the best friend a poor cuss like me ever 
had. You are—you are—. ” 

44 Here, what’s the cause of all this flow of lan¬ 
guage? What’s happened to you, anyway?” 

“Everything. Everything,” repeated Bean, 
vehemently. “I feel like a coyote and it’s my 
night to howl. Oh boy, I can’t tell it to you fast 
enough. She—she—” His head wabbled but 
words simply failed him for once. 

Jim Brandon began to understand. 

“Well, what did she say?” he questioned in a 
quiet tone. 

“She listened to me, boy, and didn’t kick me 
out. In fact,” he continued, bashfully, “I believe 
she rather encouraged me. But when I had fin¬ 
ished my tale of woe—the Lord only knows what 
I said—I don’t, she turned pale and my heart 
came right up in my mouth. I thought then of 
what you said I might tell her so I told her. Hon¬ 
estly, I believe that put it over. She asked again 
exactly what you said, then brightened up a lot 
and told me to give you her thanks. Before I left 
she gave me more than a little encouragement. 



THE DARKEST HOUR 


325 


Congratulate me—or do something. I feel like I 
was going to explode! ’’ 

“I do congratulate you, old friend, and I hope 
you will be happy. ’’ 

“Well, as to that, the big sunflower that nods 
and bends in the breeze hasn’t got anything on 
me, I can tell you. Jim, your message put it over 
for me. You are a prince and I want you to know 
just how much I appreciate your friendship. I 
wish you knew how good I feel. Glorious night, 
isn’t it?” 

“Yes, it is,” assented Jim. “I am enjoying its 
splendors somewhat, myself.” 

“What’s that?” questioned Bean. 

“Good night, George,” Jim called, cheerfully. 
“You will probably feel even better in the morn¬ 
ing.” His merry laugh rang out as in boyhood 
days. 

George Washington Bean watched the depart¬ 
ing figure of his friend, then scratched his straw- 
colored hair. 

“Now what’s happened to Jim?” he mused. 
“That’s the first real laugh I have heard from him 
in months. I wonder if he has been fooling with 
the kissing bug, too? Something’s hit him, that’s 
sure! ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XXYII 
Victory from Defeat 

Bison City was astir early the morning of the 
convention. The day dawned bright and clear. 
The whole town was in holiday attire. There was 
much activity and suppressed excitement among 
delegates. Long before the opening hour the 
scene of political activity shifted from the smoke- 
saturated lobby of the hotel, to the convention 
hall. There, all was confusion until the conven¬ 
tion was called to order shortly before the noon 
hour. 

Sam Sparks and his lieutenants were on the 
scene early. In the preliminary skirmish for the 
temporary organization of the convention the vic¬ 
tory of his machine was so overwhelming that 
Sparks smiled broadly and was affable, suave, 
confident. His steam roller was working in per¬ 
fect order. Seated on the stage, within touch of 
his temporary chairman, Sparks looked carefully 
after every detail, watchful, crafty, taking no 
chances. A nod of the head or a warning look was 
easily interpreted by the officials chosen to do his 
bidding. The permanent officers were quickly 
chosen, the prearranged list of committees was 
drawn forth and announced, followed by an ad¬ 
journment for luncheon. Everything moved 
smoothly. The Hull forces had made their last 
stand. All felt sure by this time that Sparks was 
in full control and that the nomination of Norman 
Asher would be confirmed at the afternoon ses¬ 
sion. 


> 


326 


VICTORY FROM DEFEAT 


327 


Promptly at the hour designated the delegates 
reassembled for the final business of the day. 
Sam Sparks resumed his seat on the stage beside 
the chairman and other officials and distinguished 
citizens. Norman Asher and Jonathan Butler sat 
side by side with the delegation from the Fourth 
Ward of Bison City, on the floor of the conven¬ 
tion. Jim Brandon declined a seat in the press 
box. There was no need of a close scrutiny of 
the passing events. He knew in advance just 
what was going to happen. His reporters were 
on hand, anyway, to gather the details. Tired, 
worn out, discouraged, he sat in an obscure corner 
at the rear of the hall, listless, disinterested in the 
proceedings. The sickening details were far from 
attractive. 

Monotonously the business of the convention 
dragged on. Committees reported and the reports 
were accepted with automatic regularity. The 
delegates were growing restless. The spectators 
in the gallery were anxious for something more 
spectacular. After more than an hour of the un¬ 
interesting routine the decks were finally cleared 
for action. The chair announced that nominations 
for congressman were in order. Immediately in¬ 
terest revived for all, possibly save Jim Brandon, 
who sat wearily, almost dozing, head lowered, 
body relaxed. He had fought his fight. There was 
nothing more to be done except the ratification of 
Sam Sparks’ schemes, in which he had no part. 

A noted lawyer from a nearby town was on his 
feet, seeking recognition. Upon a nod from Sam 
Sparks as a guarantee that all was well, the chair 
recognized the speaker. In a ringing speech, full 
of rhetorical flights and well-rounded sentences, 
closing with a tribute of fulsome praise, he placed 




328 


THE KANSAN 


in nomination the name of his friend and col¬ 
league, Norman Asher, of Bison City. 

This was the signal for a great outburst of ap¬ 
plause from the Sparks adherents, the first real 
excitement of the day. The cheering continued 
for several minutes. Norman Asher smiled as 
he conversed with his partner, Jonathan Butler. 
Everything was proceeding harmoniously and ac¬ 
cording to schedule. Sparks was a master of his 
trade. The chairman was rapping for order. 

“Are there other nominations V 9 he called, as 
the noise subsided. 

A fellow townsman arose. Quiet was restored. 
In a few well-chosen words he placed in nomina¬ 
tion the Honorable Jason Hull, who had served 
his constituency so faithfully and so well since 
pioneer days. 

Jason Hull had made good on his promise that 
his name should be presented to the convention. 
Apparently he had stubbornly decided to put the 
machine on record by forcing a contest. The an¬ 
nouncement of his name brought forth only 
scattering applause from a few enthusiastic 
friends. The silence that followed was ominous. 
The chairman glanced at Sparks uneasily, then 
faced the convention. 

“Are there further nominations? If not we 
will proceed with the ballot.’’ 

At this point, Jason Hull arose and walked 
down the center aisle toward the stage, one hand 
raised in signal to the chairman for recognition. 
The chair cast a questioning look at Sparks. The 
latter hesitated a moment, then, certain of his 
forces, he quietly bowed and the congressman was 
recognized. 

He at once mounted the stage and faced the 
convention. He realized the hostility of his audi- 


VICTORY FROM DEFEAT 


329 


ence even before the hoots and jeers reached him. 
He stood calmly waiting while the tumult increas¬ 
ed. The chairman rapped unavailingly for order. 
It was a clear attempt to howl down the speaker. 
There was a glint of fire in Jason Hull’s fine old 
eyes and his firm jaw was thrust aggressively out¬ 
ward while the din continued. Finally he lifted 
his hand with a commanding gesture and com¬ 
menced speaking. 

Those nearest the stage soon caught the drift 
of his remarks and became quiet. He was a gifted 
orator and his words began to carry farther out 
over the hall as he continued. 

“I realize your attitude thoroughly. I know 
that so far as you are concerned my political days 
are numbered. I bow to your will, which is su¬ 
preme. I promised that my name should be pre¬ 
sented to this convention but I did not promise 
that I would permit a contest. I know that I am 
growing old. The strife of party politics no 
longer lures me. I take this opportunity to thank 
the few friends who have stood by me all the way 
but it is plain to me that I am down and out. I 
therefore withdraw my name from this conven¬ 
tion. I publicly announce that I am no longer a 
candidate.’ 9 

As the crowd caught the full import of the 
congressman’s message and realized that the 
veteran of many battles had surrendered, there 
were lusty cheers and the convention had its first 
real sensation of what proved a remarkable day. 
Jim Brandon, in his obscure corner far in the 
rear, caught enough of the speaker’s words to 
learn that his leader was hauling down his flag. 
He therefore settled deeper in his chair and closed 
his eyes. The whole proceeding was distasteful 
and he hoped it would soon be over. 


330 


THE KANSAN 


Congressman Hull was still speaking earnestly. 
He was impersonal now that he had withdrawn 
from the race. Sparks interposed no objection 
but let him talk on. It was good politics to be 
generous. 

The people were willing to be friendly to their 
old leader now that he was out of the running. 
All respected him. Many even felt regret that 
fate had treated him so harshly. The audience 
was now quiet, thoroughly sympathetic. 

Reviewing the political situation, at length he 
said: “Most of us have pioneered together. You 
all know the hardships we then endured. Then 
we reversed the order and had our short-lived 
boom in which we prospered while it lasted and 
we all fell together when it collapsed. We are 
now at the threshold of a new era. It is the era 
of the permanent builders. I will admit it is a 
time for new blood, new thought. No doubt my 
days of usefulness to you are over. I have no 
regrets for I have served you as best I could .’ 9 
He paused a moment, looking keenly out over the 
convention hall. “Now, my countrymen, admit¬ 
ting your present course is justified, assuming 
this is to be the close of my political career, may 
I offer you just one suggestion, in passing 
i ‘ Go on, ’ ’ shouted a delegate. 

At this the watchful Sparks became suspicious 
and whispered earnestly with the chairman. 

Congressman Hull continued: “As I sense 
your demands today, you want a young man for 
your representative in Congress, a young man of 
progressive ideas, one with ability, vision and un¬ 
questioned honesty. In this I am with you. You 
certainly prefer some one with whom you are 
personally acquainted, one who is in close touch 
with your daily lives, who is familiar with your 


VICTORY FROM DEFEAT 


331 


history, your hopes, your ideas, your aspirations, 
a man of firmness of character, resolute purpose 
and unflinching courage.” 

“That’s the idea!” yelled an enthusiastic dele¬ 
gate. 

Jason Hull squared his shoulders. All the elo¬ 
quence and fire of the old days was in his voice. 

“All right. Then listen,” he shouted. 

Then Sam Sparks, scenting trouble, at once in¬ 
terposed, rising to a point of order which the 
chair endeavored to sustain but the audience 
would not have it so, insisting vehemently that 
the speaker proceed. 

“I am in order all right, Sam,” he snapped 
over his shoulder at the perspiring boss. “You’ll 
see that soon enough. Now, friends, if you really 
want such a man as I have suggested, one who 
has been here from the beginning and has always 
been on the right side of every question every 
time, young, sound to the core and worthy of your 
confidence, I know one who will meet every re¬ 
quirement. You may not have thought of him in 
this light before, but when you hear his name you 
will realize the truth of my statement. The only 
question is: Are you real men, yourselves, will¬ 
ing to stand up for your convictions?” 

“We are!” 

“Do you dare declare your political freedom?” 

“Yes! Yes!” came from the excited delegates. 

‘ ‘ All right, then listen. It is now my high privi¬ 
lege to place in nomination for congressman 
from this district a young man who is my friend 
and your friend, one who has proven true by every 
test through all these trying years—that gallant 
young knight of the prairie, Jim Brandon, of the 
Bugle! ’ ’ 

The response was instantaneous. The first 


332 


THE KANSAN 


wild cheer soon blended into a roar of sound. A 
dozen delegates were on their feet seeking recog¬ 
nition in order to second the nomination. The 
enthusiasm knew no hounds. There was waving 
and cheers from the gallery and on the floor of 
the hall the delegates in wild disorder stood on 
chairs, waving hats and yelling lustily. Jim 
Brandon’s popularity was beyond question. All 
that had been needed to start the stampede was 
the congressman’s impassioned suggestion. 

Sam Sparks was wild with rage. He held a 
hasty consultation with his henchmen on the 
stage. They at once left and soon appeared on 
the floor of the convention, striving industriously 
to stem the tide. Their efforts were futile. The 
stampede was on. Already the chant of “Vote! 
Vote! Vote!” had begun. In vain the chairman 
pounded his gavel for order at Sparks’ frantic 
command. The ovation continued with increasing 
vigor. 

One person alone, in all the assembly, remained 
unmoved by the tumult. Jim Brandon was think¬ 
ing of his meeting with Marion the night before. 
The cheers had drowned out the congressman’s 
last words. He had not heard his own name men¬ 
tioned, and therefore assumed that the ovation 
was for Norman Asher and remained impassive. 

At the front of the stage Congressman Hull 
stood cool and smiling, evidently enjoying the 
tempest his words had created. There were re¬ 
peated demands for a roll call and again came the 
insistent chant: “Vote! Vote! Vote!” 

While the tumult was at its height, Jonathan 
Butler and Norman Asher held a hasty consulta¬ 
tion. The latter was pale but composed. Appar¬ 
ently he was urging action of some sort. Butler 
finally arose. 


VICTORY FROM DEFEAT 333 

“Mister Chairman!” his sonorous voice boom¬ 
ed out above all the uproar. 

Sam Sparks saw him at once. Hope sprang up 
within him. He was ready to grasp at a straw. 
Possibly Butler might have some way out of the 
tangle. At least Butler was friendly. He gave 
the chairman a sign and the latter by a wave of 
the hand recognized the speaker. All eyes were 
now centered upon Butler’s commanding figure 
as he stretched out his hand over the tumultuous 
assembly. The noise subsided. As he commenced 
speaking, his full, deep, melodious voice reached 
to the far corners of the hall. 

“Gentlemen of the convention: On behalf of 
my friend Norman Asher I am requested to an¬ 
nounce his withdrawal from the contest. I there¬ 
fore move that the rules of this convention be 
suspended and that Jim Brandon be declared the 
nominee by acclamation!” 

This announcement fell as a thunderbolt. For 
a moment there w r as silence. Then as its full 
meaning became known wild cheers broke forth 
that fairly shook the building. This time Jim 
Brandon had heard his name called but still the 
full meaning of the procedure had not dawned 
upon him. The uproar continued, increasing in 
volume. Delegates wildly clamored for the privi¬ 
lege of seconding Jonathan Butler’s motion. 
Again the demand, “Vote! Vote! Vote!” came 
from all parts of the hall. 

Sam Sparks was nonplussed by the bombshell 
Butler had exploded. He felt the earth slipping 
beneath his feet. He nervously mopped his per¬ 
spiring, pasty face and squirmed as if in torture. 
The dazed chairman, responding to the insistent 
demand, arose, gavel in hand, to put the motion. 


334 


THE KANSAN 


“Sit down, you fool,” hissed Sparks. His 
words were drowned in the storm of sound. 

Prefunctorily the chairman put the motion. 
Those nearest the stage caught his words. There 
was a deluge of ‘ ‘ ayes ’ ’ that rose and swelled and 
reverberated. If there were “no” votes they 
were lost in the wild cheering that followed. If 
the chairman ever announced the result nobody 
heard it and nobody cared. The convention had 
spoken in no uncertain tones. Jim Brandon had 
been nominated and the delegates were hilariously 
celebrating the event in the wildest demonstration 
of the day. 

There was a rush for the rear of the hall, where 
Jim Brandon stood, dazed by the suddenness of 
the revelation of what had transpired, nervously 
running his fingers through the waves of his black 
hair. In the mad scramble to reach him, George 
Washington Bean led all the rest. Over the backs 
of chairs and the forms of the shouting delegates 
he leaped frantically, his long arms w r aving, his 
angular legs propelling him by great bounds. His 
eyes fairly popped from their sockets and his 
cavernous mouth expanded from ear to ear as he 
yelled his enthusiasm. He reached Jim Brandon 
with a wild whoop. 

“Sufferin’ cats! Sufferin’ cats!” he shouted. 
“Ain’t it great? Man, man, you’re it!” 

The excited crowd surged around the two 
friends. Jim Brandon had no time to reply. Be¬ 
fore he realized what was happening lie was 
seized and hoisted to the shoulders of a bunch of 
sturdy, shouting delegates and the triumphant 
march around the hall was begun. 

From his elevated position Jim Brandon saw 
Jason Hull still standing on the stage, a smile 
upon his strong, rugged face. He saw Sam 


VICTORY FROM DEFEAT 


335 


Sparks mop the perspiration from his sallow, 
ashen face as he sank limp into a chair, his air 
castles shattered. Then while the crowd, hoarse 
with cheering, still bore him on around the hall, 
his gaze wandered to the gallery. His heart beat 
wildly, for up there, standing on a chair, the light 
of love in her eyes, was the sweetheart of his boy¬ 
hood, waving her handkerchief and cheering with 
all her might. He knew that she saw him and 
waved his hand. The crowd caught this little by 
play and cheered the louder. 

The shouting, gesticulating procession neared 
the stage. Friendly hands reached out and as¬ 
sisted him to mount the platform. Jason Hull 
was first to grasp Jim’s hand. As the two stood 
side by side upon the stage the demonstration in 
the hall reached its height. Hats were thrown to 
the ceiling. Excited delegates pounded each 
other good-naturedly. 

“You did all this,” were Brandon’s first words. 
“I owe everything to you.” 

“Not everything,” Jason Hull replied. “I felt 
sure your personality would put it over. That’s 
what I had in mind some time ago when I told 
you the last card had not been played.” 

From the hall now came insistent demand for 
a speech from the candidate. 

“You should say a few words to them at this 
time, Jim. You ow T e them a great deal,” advised 
Jason Hull. 

“I am afraid I can’t do it. My heart is too 
full,” he replied, yet turned and faced the en¬ 
thusiastic audience resolutely. His fine face was 
lighted by inspiration of the dramatic scenes just 
enacted. 

“Friends,” he began, “I can do little more than 
thank you at this time. If elected I promise that 



336 


THE KANSAN 


I will endeavor to remain true to you, the people 
of this district, and to the great commonwealth 
* of Kansas. This honor thrust so suddenly upon 
me, finds me unprepared for oratory. The little 
I have to say comes straight from the heart. I 
can hardly realize even yet what you have done. 
I am surprised and sobered by the responsibility 
you ask me to assume. I love you and I thank 
you. I will do my best to measure up to your ex¬ 
pectations. What more can I say to you now?” 

The cheering continued and enthusiastic dele¬ 
gates began to mount the stage wdiere an informal 
reception was tendered the new candidate, district 
leaders pledging him loyal support. Among the 
first to greet him was Norman Asher, cool, non¬ 
chalant, yet hearty with his congratulations. 

“I wish you success,’’ he said, quite cheerfully. 
‘ 4 There are no sore spots on me. I really wasn’t 
particular about the nomination, although those 
who doubt that statement are welcome to their 
opinions. Some may think it a case of sour 
grapes but really I have not tasted the fruit,” 
he said, smiling. “I consented to go into this 
thing at the insistence of friends. Truly, I am 
glad I am well out of it. ’ ’ 

“Asher is a good loser. I can vouch for that,” 
assured Jonathan Butler. 4 ‘When the stampede 
started he didn’t whimper but came across of his 
own accord, like a thoroughbred. ’ ’ 

Sam Sparks, crestfallen, his face a sickly hue, 
edged his way through the crowd. 

“Jim, you win,” he said with outstretched 
hand. “I guess I will have to line up for you, but 
the whole thing was a dirty political trick.” 

Jim Brandon ignored the proffered hand. 
“Thank you, Sam,” he said. “I think I will 
be able to get along without you. You have said 


VICTORY FROM DEFEAT 337 

that you wanted a new deal in politics. You are 
due to get it.” 

Turning quickly away, he said to the others: 
“Gentlemen, I thank you all. I will he at head¬ 
quarters this evening for a little conference with 
all who care to come. I must go now.” 

The crowd on the stage and down in the hall was 
thinning. Jim had caught sight of Marion Butler, 
waiting near the rear of the hall. He hurriedly 
left the stage and gradually worked his way 
through the crowds still anxious to tender him an 
ovation. 

As he neared Marion Butler she extended her 
hands. There was love, pride and pleasure in her 
eyes. 

“I saw it all. Wasn’t it glorious? I am proud 
of you,” she said, softly. 

He smiled and guided her out of the building 
before replying. 

“It was a great surprise, dearest, but there 
was not the real joy in it that there was in the 
surprise you gave me last night when we met 
under the maples.” 

She looked up at him, archly. 

“Oh, the joy of knowing that I had the courage 
to ask your forgiveness before this honor came 
to you,” she said. “My motives might have been 
misjudged, otherwise. ’’ 

“I have never misjudged you, never will,” he 
replied, earnestly. 

Jonathan Butler now joined them. Taking Jim 
Brandon by the arm as in olden times, he said: 
‘ ‘ Come on down to the house with us, lad. I want 
to talk to you. So does Marion, I presume. I am 
still wondering why it was left for Jason Hull to 
show us all the thing we really desired. Why 
shouldn’t I have had sense enough to have known 






338 


THE KANSAN 


what we all really wanted? Asher wasn’t the 
man. He told you the plain truth. He didn’t 
care to enter politics. He preferred to practice 
his profession. Sam Sparks must have had some 
of us hypnotized,” he chatted on as the three 
walked down the street toward the Butler cottage. 

‘‘Sparks is adroit,” Jim replied, “but he met 
his match in Mr. Hull this afternoon. I had no 
idea what he had in mind and missed a good part 
of the show,” he admitted, apologetically. 

As the little party reached the gate at the But¬ 
ler cottage, Jim Brandon halted suddenly. 

“Mr. Butler, please do not think me imperti¬ 
nent, but I would like to ask you a question. I 
have been thinking about it on the way down. Do 
you think the estrangement between you and Mr. 
Hull is too great to be overcome? Couldn’t you 
two bury the hatchet and become friends again? 
Will you meet Mr. Hull half way?” 

Jonathan Butler pondered deeply for a moment. 

“I would welcome a reconciliation but I have 
my doubts about Hull being in a similar mood.” 

“Will you grant me permission to speak to him 
about it, now, this very afternoon?” 

“With pleasure but I have little faith in the 
success of your mission.” 

“May I bring him here to your home in case 
he consents?” 

“Gladly. I will welcome his coming,” he re¬ 
plied, heartily. 

“I’ll be back soon,” Jim called, cheerily, as he 
waved his hand at father and daughter and hur¬ 
ried off up the street. 

A few moments later, while seated on the 
porch, they saw Jim Brandon and Jason Hull 
coming down the street, arm in arm. Jonathan 
Butler watched them turn in at his gate with 


VICTOBY FEOM DEFEAT 339 

strange feelings of emotion. He arose to greet 
them. 

# There was an awkward moment as the two old 
pioneers faced each other. Jim Brandon drew 
them together and placing a hand on the shoulder 
of each, said: 

‘ i This is the happiest day of my life. But one 
thing more is needed to make my cup of happiness 
overflow. That would be to see my two best 
friends again united. I owe so much to you both. 
Won’t you please shake hands so we can all be 
happy ? ’ 9 

The two old friends looked at each other square¬ 
ly in the eye. Some message of mutual respect 
flashed there. Jonathan Butler grasped Jason 
Hull’s % extended hand. The light of old friend¬ 
ship was rekindled. As Butler spoke, there was 
a pathetic droop at the corners of the mouth that 
had smiled through all the years of adversity. He, 
too, was growing old. 

“ Jason, I have erred,” he said, meekly. “Sit 
down, won’t you, please? Let’s talk things over. 
I have accepted punishment without a murmur 
because I know that I got off better than I de¬ 
served. I have had a big load to carry since the 
boom but it is getting much lighter. But for this, 
I would have attempted some sort of restitution 
long ago for the old bankruptcy deal. I am at 
last beginning to see daylight ahead and can 
promise an accounting.” 

“Man, you owe me nothing,” promptly declared 
Jason Hull. “Hush. No more of that. Let the 
past rest. I have watched your struggle and am 
proud of the record you have made. It took rare 
courage. I am glad you came through success¬ 
fully.” 




340 


THE KANSAN 


“But old friend, I wronged you,” Butler per¬ 
sisted. 

Jason Hull raised a hand in protest. 

“You didn’t gain anything by the money you 
got from me. What’s more, you had the grit to 
remain and help fight for prosperity while others 
ran away. My only regret has been that you 
withheld your companionship from me. Jonathan, 
you will never know just how much that hurt me.” 

“I know. My actions were due to a sense of 
guilt. I felt that you had reason to scorn me and 
I feared a deserved rebuff. One seldom goes 
through the fire without getting scorched.” 

“We have each had our ups and downs,” said 
Jason Hull, reflectively. “I suppose I should 
feel depressed over my political downfall today, 
but some way I do not, especially now that Jim 
has come into his own. ’ ’ 

As the two old friends drew their chairs closer 
together and chatted on, the lovers slipped 
quietly away to the west veranda, where the sun 
was turning the sky into colors of crimson and 
gold. There, with his arm about Marion’s waist 
and her head nestled against his shoulder, Jim 
Brandon gazed silently out across the valley of 
Willow Creek where the golden sunlight touched 
the landscape with mellow beauty and great cloud 
shadows rolled across the prairie they loved so 
well. 

It was their favorite view, the valley of Willow 
Creek off there away from the roar of traffic and 
the hum of industry in the busy town behind them. 
It was unbroken prairie no longer, but beautiful 
still with its broad highways, peaceful fields, 
bending orchards and shimmering groves. 

Their hearts were thrilled with love as they 
gazed. It was their enchanted valley, where their 


VICTORY FROM DEFEAT 


341 


present happiness had been foreshadowed in 
childhood dreams in the sweet days of long ago. 


The End 





















































































































































































































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